Busman's Holiday
by mandassina
Summary: With Section D ordered to stand down until new recruits Beth and Dimitri are fully cleared, Harry sends an unwilling Lucas on a 'simple' retrieval mission in America. When things become complicated, a brash American offers to help. Having an ally with local knowledge and resources is helpful, but will it be enough to get him home alive? Story complete. Will post every few days.
1. Prologue: The Lesser of Two Evils

**Disclaimer:** _Spooks_ is not mine. I recognise canon only to the end of S8E8, where the hotel explodes and Lucas goes flying. This story starts just after the end of S9E1, where Dimitri and Beth join the team.

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Prologue: The Lesser of Two Evils_

"COME ON, HARRY!" Lucas complains, "I'm good for a lot more than a hand-holding mission."

"Of course, you are," Harry says agreeably, "but hand-holding is what I need you to do right now."

"Can't you send Ruth?" Lucas barely manages to keep the whine out of his voice. He hasn't been home two full days yet, and doesn't want to leave again right away. After his long visit to Russia, business travel has lost its appeal.

"Ruth is needed here," Harry says. "Despite having already participated in a mission with you and now hanging about on the Grid and reviewing our files, our newest team members are not fully vetted yet. She will be taking care of that."

"What, you think I can't run a couple of background checks and snap their photos for ID badges?" Lucas scoffs. "Let me do that and send Ruth to America!"

Harry's frustration is showing now in the way he puts his hand over his face and looks at Lucas between his fingers, as if hiding from the problem will make it go away.

"I'm sure you can," he finally says in that clipped tone that says it doesn't matter anyway, "but those tasks are part of Ruth's standing duties. She'll be able to complete them much more efficiently. Besides, you have a stake in making sure Beth and Dimitri pass the background checks. You recruited them. If anything should come up in the future, your assessment would be suspect."

"Dimitri," Lucas interrupts, "just Dimitri. You recruited Beth, and had you asked, I would have advised against it."

"All right," Harry agrees, "I hired her, but you brought her to my door like a stray cat in need of a bowl of cream, and I didn't ask because we need her. It's still not your place to vet the new recruits, and I still need you to go to America and collect that package."

Lucas sighs and rolls his eyes. He really doesn't want to go abroad again so soon after his jaunt to Morocco.

"Really, Lucas, you should jump at the opportunity!" Harry tells him, trying to sound encouraging. "This may be your last chance for quite some time to relax and sit in the sun. Just go and amuse yourself playing the tourist and watching the children play their games. Ruth tells me Williamsport boasts several quaint tourist attractions, including a paddle-wheel boat, a museum devoted to Little League Baseball, a local historical museum, and something called Reptiland not too far away."

If Lucas weren't so anxious to avoid crossing the Atlantic, he might be amused by how dismally Harry fails to look enthusiastic about "Reptiland" and the hordes of squealing children that undoubtedly infest it.

"Then, when the Russian team is knocked out of the tournament, you collect the package and come home. You'll be gone two weeks at the most. Just, think of it as a busman's holiday!"

"But Harry, I've barely had time to unmake my own bed. I don't _want_ a holiday," Lucas protests. "I don't _need_ a holiday!"

"Bollocks!" Harry snaps. "All of us do, any time we can get one, and you've not had a break since you came back from Russia."

Harry is at the end of his tether, and Lucas knows it, but he doesn't give in. That is perhaps the best sign of all that he needs some time off.

"When is the last time you had a holiday, Harry? Huh? I can't remember you missing any time since I returned to Section D. Perhaps you should go to bloody America and play baby sitter for a while."

"That is enough, Lucas!" Harry finally erupts. "Like it or not, this is your choice: do what I ask of you, or take a real holiday and try to amuse yourself for two weeks! At my last meeting with the new Home Secretary, he actually suggested that Section D should _stand down_ for a _month_, 'to take stock,' he said, but I shouldn't wonder if he really meant for us to update our CVs. I managed to convince him that two weeks was enough time. It will take that long for Dimitri and Beth to gain full clearance and complete their induction training. I have to say, though, from losing Ben and Connie's betrayal, to Jo, not to mention your personal experiences with Oleg Darshavin and Sarah Caulfield, and now what's happened to Ros – By the way, how's the head, Lucas? Are your ears still ringing? I've heard it can take upwards of three months to recover fully from a concussion. Do you think you could pass the cognitive assessments if you had to take them right now? – Section D has had a _bloody difficult_ year. I'm not entirely sure the new Home Secretary is wrong about us all needing a moment to catch our breaths. So, what'll it be, Lucas? A bit of child's play or mandatory leave?"

Harry's lips twitch slightly at his little double-entendre.

Lucas rolls his eyes. Yes, the mission should be easy, but Harry could have chosen another idiom.

"All right, I'll go," he concedes unhappily. "But please, have Ruth get me a seat in business class, even if she has to take the upgrade out of my wages. My legs are too bloody long to ride comfortably in coach."

"Thank you, Lucas," Harry says, and he really does sound grateful. It's almost enough to make Lucas believe he truly is needed for this specific task. "You won't regret it. In fact, if you can relax, I think you might actually even enjoy yourself."


	2. Play Ball

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter One: Play Ball_

LUCAS IS UTTERLY CONFUSED. It's an unfamiliar sensation for him, and on the rare occasions when he does experience it, it usually scares the hell out of him, but not today.

Today, he is thoroughly enjoying himself.

It is a beautiful, bright Sunday afternoon in mid-August, a bit muggy, owing, he supposes, to the many creeks, streams, and springs that feed into the West Branch of the Susquehanna River; and there is the potential for another spectacular thunderstorm this evening. He is grateful for the shorts he bought at the local WalMart. They aren't the quality of clothes he is used to wearing, but they help him to blend with the crowd. Williamsport is a mostly working class town, and while he had thought his jeans would do, one day spent wilting on the bleachers in the summer sun was quite enough, thank you very much. He'd gone shopping that first evening as soon as he was certain his target was tucked up for the night, and fortunately for him, the discount department store was open twenty-four hours a day.

He smiles as he remembers the dreamy look on the shop girl's face at checkout. And the giggle he got from the waitress at the Bullfrog Brewery, which had a very good house brew, but the food, while satisfying, wasn't quite authentic pub fare to a British palate. There was also the blushing, stammering desk clerk at the Econolodge. (He promises himself again that he will not complain to Ruth about the accommodations at the other end of town. At least the staff is friendly and getting him a room on such short notice had to have been a minor miracle). Apparently, loads of American women are enchanted by his accent. Only the workers here at the stadium seem immune to his charms, which makes sense. He hardly sounds exotic to people who spend all day trying to communicate with foreigners.

Baseball, it turns out, is _not_ America's answer to cricket, not that it matters to Lucas. He's never been much of a cricket enthusiast and wouldn't grasp the finer points of either game without extensive tutoring. He really has no clue what is going on today except that the Russians, and by extension, his target, Coach Alexei Pomelnikov, are doing well. It is their second game and they are beating the team from Japan by three runs in the second half of the third inning with three runners on base and no one out. Apparently, winning over the team from Chinese Taipei in their first game on Thursday had been a major coup for the Russians, and now no one really knows what to expect.

Lucas doesn't care that he doesn't understand what's happening. Until a month ago, he couldn't say for certain that he'd ever heard of the Little League World Series, and if he had, he'd never paid it any attention. He thinks he's doing well enough to recognize which team is winning, and he doubts if half the people around him really understand the significance of statistics like _ERA_ and _on base percentage_ any better than he does.

It is fortunate that a British team is not in the competition. As an Englishman, he can cheer for both sides in this game without raising any suspicions. Being alone, his excuse for being here at all is more complicated.

He's a security consultant for one of the companies drilling for natural gas in the Marcellus shale industry, and he's between jobs. He'd never heard of the Little League Baseball organization or their World Series before (which is true), and didn't give it a second thought when someone mentioned it in conversation a few weeks ago. Then he started to notice the vast increase in the number of tourists in the area, and decided to take in a game or two. The first game he saw was Russia's upset victory over Chinese Taipei (also true), and he'd been hooked. Now he is following their progress, just for the hell of it, really.

The ball flies off the aluminium bat with a loud ping and Lucas rises to his feet, shouting _Go! Go! GO!_ at the top of his lungs along with a few hundred other fans. The ball soars over the left field fence and he is whooping and whistling with the rest of the crowd. A grand slam is worth four points, called runs. It puts the Russians ahead by seven, and there is still nobody out. As the batter trots into home plate and gets high-fives from his teammates, Lucas sits back down with a sheepish laugh and wonders what his colleagues would think if they could see him now, actually having _fun_. _On a mission._

Then he rolls his eyes as he realizes that this means Harry was right.

IT IS AMAZING HOW QUICKY THE TIDE CAN TURN. After the grand slam, the Japanese bring in a different pitcher. Lucas uses the break in the action to go to the concession stand for a hot dog. Every stand is operated by a crew of volunteers working to earn a cut of the proceeds for a different non-profit organization. He chooses one run by the Friends of the Library to support their volunteer literacy programmes. Since he doesn't generally eat hot dogs, he isn't sure what toppings he wants. When he asks, the girl who serves him, a pretty brunette with dimples and green eyes and a pony tail bouncing out of the back of her ball cap, which matches her shirt and, as far as he can see, her shorts, says, "I usually go for either mustard _or_ sauerkraut, but _not_ both, and _never _with anything else." Then she jokes, "But you can't go by me, I have a terribly unsophisticated palate. I'll eat anything that doesn't bite back."

Lucas raises an eyebrow at her last statement, only because it seems an unusual thing to say to a stranger. He doesn't realise until she blushes and lowers her eyes and begins to giggle that such a declaration could have some very lascivious connotations. Then he feels himself flush to discover that he is actually considering such things, and, to make it even worse, now that he's aware of it, he can't make himself stop.

The girl laughs, and says, "Sorry about that. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain."

Her comment causes Lucas to look at her mouth. She has full, red lips that look very soft and straight white teeth. A thought about that mouth enters his head, and he has to look away again.

He laughs at himself and thinks he might have liked to ask her out if circumstances had been different. He opts for the sauerkraut on his hot dog when she tells him it is made locally in the traditional way, and by the time he gets back in the stands, the new pitcher for Japan has put the Russians out and the Japanese have scored five runs, cutting the Russian lead to two. The lead changes four times in the remaining three innings with the Russians pulling off an amazing seven-run rally in the bottom of the sixth by capitalizing on Japan's only error of the game. With runners on first and third and no one out, they knock in one run after another by simply putting the ball in play and running hard.

A storm is rolling in from the west as Russia wins by a score of fifteen to fourteen. Making safety a priority, the managers and officials herd the children off the field as soon as the two teams finish exchanging high-fives. Since he is under the stadium roof on the first base side, and since he has no umbrella and really hates the feeling of rain in his face, Lucas decides to wait out the storm where he is. It is as good a time as any to check in, but it is nearly eleven p.m. back home, so he dials the secure number that will forward his call to Harry's voice mail. In case of emergency, he has a direct number that will take him through to the man himself.

"Hello, Dad," he says when the voice mail picks up. "I'm having a great time here watching the kids play ball. Still clueless about most of the rules and strategy. My mate's team won, though, so they play again on Wednesday, against Mexico or Uganda, depending on who wins tonight's game. I imagine we'll be doing tourist activities 'til then. If you get a chance to watch the game, look for me somewhere behind their dugout. I'll send you a post card. Talk to you later."

The coded communications were Lucas's idea. The Americans want Alexei Pomelnikov to escape his Russian mafia employers, but they don't want to be seen helping him. The decision was made above Harry's head to keep this operation as small as possible, so Lucas is without backup. The only assistance he has on the mission is one anonymous FBI agent who will work independently of him to shuttle Pomelnikov's wife and son safely to the airport and a flight bound for London when the time is right. In exchange for allowing Lucas to work freely on their sovereign soil and rendering such a small amount of aid, American security agencies will get any data Pomelnikov might offer that is useful to them. Lucas has no idea why the Americans would want to maintain deniability with the Russian mob, but since the CIA has a long tradition of very dirty business, he suspects they are somehow involved. Given that his experiences with the Russians and the CIA have generally gone badly, Lucas developed the code to ensure that he could communicate freely with his boss regardless of who might be listening.

Most of the message is straight facts or filler, but a few phrases communicate more than they seem. "Still clueless" means his plans are still up in the air because the timing depends on how well the Russian team plays. "I'll send you a post card" indicates that he'll be in touch again, but not soon and not at a definite time. "Talk to you later" would mean he actually intends to call if he can. A simple "good bye" would have indicated that the "post card" would be an e-mail.

Having apprised his boss of his progress, Lucas checks e-mail on his phone. Ruth added him to the Russian team's friends and family e-mail list as Borzoi-1, which makes him smile every time he checks it. The Borzoi is the Russian greyhound, Greyhound-1 is a frequently used call sign for UNIT on _Doctor Who_, and while Lucas never would have taken Ruth for a _Doctor Who_ enthusiast, the coincidence is enough to make him wonder. If she is, the comparison to the Brigadier is flattering, and if she isn't, it's still funny, at least to him. Whatever the case, it is a convenient way to keep track of his target, and when it comes time to move, he has an easy way to communicate with Alexei. Until then, they are to have no direct contact whatsoever.

Alexei is prompt about notifying his mailing list of his team's win. Within ten minutes of the team leaving the field, Lucas, and some eighty aunties, uncles, cousins, grandparents, friends, and teachers who couldn't make it to the games have been brought up to date. To his surprise, there are no tourist activities planned for tomorrow. Instead there is an early practice, team and individual interviews, a photo shoot, and an afternoon practice. When the boys – the Russian team is all boys, though girls are eligible to play – aren't engaged in these activities, they will be watching the competition play.

Lucas feels a bit disappointed on the team's behalf. Of course, now that he thinks about it, Alexei's itinerary makes perfect sense under the circumstances. Just being here and playing against the best teams in the world is certainly the experience of a lifetime for these children, but Lucas had been reading earlier about a nearby amusement park called Knoble's Grove, which features some of the country's best park rides and several historic ones, and another called Hershey Park, for the American chocolate brand. The _Hiawatha_, the paddlewheel riverboat Harry had mentioned when trying to convince Lucas to take the mission, is just minutes from the stadium; and Penn's Cave, a spectacular limestone cavern that can be toured by boat, is barely more than an hour away.

Lucas needs to check on Alexei a couple of times a day and see to it that he gets safely back to his lodgings every night, but since lurking about all the time would make him too conspicuous, he is otherwise free to pursue his own entertainment between games. Amusement parks aren't geared for a grown man on his own, and these days people would be rightly worried to find one hanging out in a place where parents take their little ones to play. The _Hiawatha_ sounds interesting, but it doesn't run tomorrow, and Tuesday night is a family night cruise, again, inappropriate for a bachelor. The regular daytime public cruises only last about an hour, so he will still need to plan something more to fill out his day. He has all evening to make plans, so there is no rush.

The storm has abated, so the first thing he decides to do is to have another hot dog.

"You don't sound Russian and you don't look Japanese, so I have to ask, did your team win?" It's the brunette with the dimples again. Lucas is pleased to see that her earlier embarrassment hasn't made her the least bit shy of him. The rain and an announced game delay to allow time to dry the field have sent a good many people back to their cars or even home. The concession stand isn't terribly busy, and it is allowing the workers time to talk.

Lucas laughs. "I suppose so," he says. "I don't know any of the players so I wasn't exactly vested in the outcome."

"Ah, so you're an enthusiast?" she queries.

"Not exactly," he admits. "I'm already in town on business, and it seemed like an interesting diversion. I suppose you could say I'm following the Russians because they won the first game I saw, but I'm really cheering for whoever's doing something exciting at any given moment."

"That's how I am, usually," she laughs, handing him a hotdog. This time it is loaded with chilli and cheese and when he raises a brow at her, she says, "Not my personal preference, but a lot of people love them. You should try a few variations before you settle on a favourite."

Looking down the length of the counter to where the other servers are huddled up in conversation and waiting on the occasional customer, she seems to decide she can have a bit of a break herself.

"Now, if Mid-Atlantic is playing, it's another matter, mind you." Folding her arms, she leans against the wall and grins at him. "I don't know any of the players, but that's Pennsylvania's region, so they're sort of the home team. You said you're here on business. What kind of business are you in?"

Americans are so bloody nosy. Lucas doesn't like talking about his cover. The more he says, the more likely he is to slip up. He spent eight years wondering what his mistake had been in Russia only to learn that it had been one of his own who'd betrayed him, but it still makes him nervous.

"Security consultant for the gas wells," he finally says. At least the local paper, the _Sun-Gazette_, was online and he'd had time to study up on the natural gas industry and its impact on the local economy and environment. There were enough environmental groups protesting the drilling to explain his reluctance to talk about his work, so he added, "Hope that doesn't put you off?"

"Oh, Lord, no," the girl replies, and since Americans are also delightfully, sometimes annoyingly, chatty, she continues. "I mean, yeah, on the one hand, I am concerned about groundwater contamination, all the water they're pumping out of out local waterways for drilling, and other impacts they might have on the environment, so I'm glad the alarmists are there to force a happy medium between commerce and environmentalism. On the other hand, I have several friends who don't have to worry about their bills for the first time in their lives, and that can't be all bad. In fact, the gas industry saved one of my friends from losing his home and his livelihood."

Lucas gives her a quizzical look. That's all it takes to get her to carry the conversation. She doesn't even seem to notice that he's barely told her anything about himself, and now she's telling him all about one of her friends.

She grins and says, "He's a farmer. A couple of bad growing seasons in a row, and he was facing bankruptcy. His family has been working the same fields since before the Revolutionary War."

Wanting to tease her for no particular reason, Lucas frowns in mock puzzlement and says, "You mean the American Colonial Rebellion?"

To his surprise, she is completely unfazed and doesn't even have to think about a response.

"Toe-MAY-toe, toe-MAH-toe," she says with a roll of her eyes. "But, to be fair, rebellions are usually put down. When they succeed they become revolutions."

Lucas actually takes a moment to consider that. "I'd never realized."

Astonishingly, the girl has nothing to say to that. Lucas takes a bite of his hotdog. It's tasty, but the chilli and cheese are a bit greasy for him. The sauerkraut was much better.

The pause in the conversation becomes awkward. Gesturing vaguely to his left, the girl blatantly changes the subject with, "You've got some interesting body art, there."

He looks down at the Cyrillic lettering creeping out of his sleeve and down his bicep. The only reason it isn't covered is that in this weather, long sleeves would be more conspicuous than Russian prison tattoos, even among the Russians fans. He feels strangely ambivalent about his tattoos. He doesn't hate them, though they are a painful reminder of the torture, fear, and loneliness he'd endured for the end of his twenties and half of his thirties. He isn't proud of them, though they are a symbol of survival. He isn't ashamed of them, for he'd committed no crime of conscience to land in jail; he was only guilty of serving Queen and Country in a hostile land. If he really thinks about it, he actually regards them like the little divot above his left brow, a scar from the chicken pox he suffered as a boy, it's there but he doesn't really care about it one way or the other.

"Youthful indiscretion," he says with a shrug, and takes another bite of the hot dog.

"What's it say?" she asks.

He chews and swallows, grabs a napkin and wipes away the grease that is running down his chin. "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, or so I'm told."

"Have no fun?" she grins.

"Something like that," he smiles back.

"It's the Cyrillic alphabet, isn't it?" she asks. "You _were_ rooting for the Russians."

"It's purely coincidental," he says. "I got the tattoo in Little Russia. I really have no idea what it says." He'd decided long ago on that lie for anyone who didn't have a reason to know about his prison time.

"I've heard of Little Italy and Chinatown," she says. "Williamsport even has Sauerkraut Hill for all the German families, but where's Little Russia?"

"Tottenham."

When she looked puzzled, he clarifies, "A neighbourhood in North London." Holding up the remainder of his hot dog, he asks, "Would you think me terribly rude and wasteful if I threw the rest of this away? It tastes all right, but it's so rich I'm afraid it will give me indigestion."

"Trash can's right behind you," she says. "Would you like another one, no charge?"

"No thanks," he tells her, "but a sparkling water would be great."

She makes a pained face. "Sparkling water's not really something a lot of Americans do. I mean, you can find it at the supermarket, but it's not common at ball parks."

Lucas really doesn't care. He just wants a drink and an excuse to stand around and chat a little longer. "Still would be fine."

Their fingers brush when she hands him the bottle of water. It's only been out of the cooler a few seconds and it's already dripping with condensation, but it's not the chill on the bottle that makes him tingle.

Gesturing toward his right this time, the girl says, "Looks like you were a persistently indiscreet young man."

Lucas can't help but smile. Americans are bloody tenacious when they find a topic they think is interesting.

This is another lie he already planned to tell ages ago. "That was actually the first one I got," he says. "Stupid kid, out on his own for the first time. The symbolism was meant to be obvious. Breaking the ties that bind."

"Freedom from the parents, their rules, your chores?"

Lucas laughs. "Yeah. If I had to do it over now, there would be a big, black ball at the end of that chain and it would say mortgage, bills, job, responsibility."

"Wife and kids?" she asks.

Lucas can't decide if she's being too forward. He did open the door and they are flirting. It seems a natural question, so he answers.

"No, no wife or kids. My ex and I parted on friendly terms, but we move in different circles. I haven't seen or heard from her in a couple of years." He stops talking, surprised at himself for rambling on like that, and shuts himself up with a swallow of his water. He should have stopped with a simple no. Nothing wrong with turning the tables, though. "How about you?"

"No wife for me, either, but several hundred kids," she says, and waits for him to give her a glare. It's kind of hard to do because she has him wanting to laugh, but he manages it. She chuckles and says, "I'm single. A school teacher, never been married, my mother likes to call me an old maid, but I have loads of friends. I imagine someday, if I stay busy, the right guy will eventually cross my path."

"Well, that's refreshing," he says.

She frowns. "Meaning what?"

"Well, most women I know are either actively seeking a man who is willing to commit, or they are deliberately avoiding commitment in favour of their careers," he says. "It's a nice surprise to meet someone who is content with what life brings her."

She gives him a genuine frown now and leans forward with her elbows on the countertop. "That makes me sound lazy," she says, sounding a little hurt.

"No! No, not at all!" Lucas is quickly on the defensive. "Obviously you're not! I mean, I've read about the army of volunteers that come together to make this event happen every year, but you lot are still a small fraction of the population. Nobody lazy would volunteer to work in a food concession on a day like this. I rather get the impression that you are happy with who you are now and will be able to easily accommodate whatever comes next. There aren't many people like that, you know, who can really live in the moment. Please tell me you understand, because I'm starting to feel rather stupid explaining myself, and I think I might just be making things worse, and I hope I haven't offended you."

"Oh, not at all," the girl replies. "It's like that Thoreau quote. 'Happiness is like a butterfly…'"

"The more you chase it, the more it will elude you," Lucas continues.

"But if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder," the girl finishes. "You know, if I were ever to get a tattoo, that would be it."

"Yeah?" Lucas asks, marvelling again at how open Americans are.

"Yep, right here." She indicates a spot on her shoulder where she would have to crane her neck to see it. "I've thought about it a lot. Even designed one," she tells him. "Have a look."

She pulls a pen out of her pocket and grabs a napkin. Lucas leans forward, wondering how much 'design' would be involved in a tattoo featuring a famous quotation. As he watches, an image takes shape.

The word _Happiness _is written vertically in an elaborate swirling script. The uprights of the capital H are extended and curled like antennae, the final _s_ tapers away like a tail, and the letters in between widen and narrow just like an insect's body. The wings are beautifully frilly with a distinctive tail on the bottom ones, and the delicate veins and various colour patches are intricately detailed.

"It would be a female Eastern tiger swallowtail," she says. "Most of it is yellow, but these sections down here are a bright blue."

"It's brilliant," Lucas says, and he means it. He has seen some of the lovely insects in the flowers at his hotel and can envision exactly what this drawing would look like on the girl's fair skin.

"There's another one I've often thought about having done," she says, warming to the subject now. On the napkin, she draws a dark blob with a crystal poking out of it.

Lucas studies the sketch for a moment and frowns.

"What is that supposed to be?" he finally asks.

She gives him a shy smile.

"A diamond in the rough," she says.

Indicating a spot on the curve of her right hand between where the thumb and the index finger join the palm, she says, "I'd put it right here, where I'd see it all the time, to remind me that there is always room to learn and grow and improve."

"Right here?" Lucas asks with a smirk, stroking his finger lightly over the spot in question and looking up at her through his lashes.

"R-right there," she says. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," he tells her, and then loosely clasps her fingers.

When she curls her hand to lightly grip his, he takes that as consent and draws her hand to his lips so he can place a kiss on the very spot where she says she would place the tattoo.

He hears her sharp intake of breath and feels very pleased with himself.

"You're shameless," she says in a soft, hoarse voice.

He looks up at her again and the flush on her cheeks tells him that she isn't as unmoved as she is trying to sound.

"I am," he agrees. "But all in good fun."

He feels like a rogue, flirting so much when he knows he'll never see her again. She may be giving as good as she gets, but she doesn't know that he already has plans to disappear.

"Why haven't you done it?" he asks, releasing her hand.

She shrugs. "I'm a wimp," she says. "Afraid of the pain."

"Ah, well then," he says. He's not going to try to convince her one way or the other, but if she really wants to … "I can't say it doesn't hurt, but it wasn't as painful as I expected. If you keep to the fleshy bits and avoid the obvious sensitive areas and the thin skin over bones, it isn't so bad."

"So, no regrets?" she asks. They are close enough that she can run her finger over the five dots on the inside of his right wrist.

The touch is definitely too forward, even for an American, but Lucas finds he doesn't mind. He wonders if she can feel his pulse quicken as he frets about what he'll say if she asks what it means. Her interest in his tattoos is suddenly disconcerting and he hopes she doesn't try to Google them to learn more about their symbolism. The quincunx she is fingering now was supposed to represent a prisoner in solitary confinement, and he has never bothered to come up with a suitable lie to explain it. He always figured if a stranger got that curious he would just tell them to piss off, but he doesn't want to say that to this girl. He decides that he will say he was drunk at the time and doesn't remember, but four of his mates have the same one, so obviously it has something to do with unity and male bonding, but he's damned if he can remember what.

"No regrets," he says. "But if I had it to do over, I wouldn't do it now."

Another lie. It had been vital to his survival in the prison, but it would be true for the older self of the brash young man he claims to have been.

"Really? Why not?" She seems a little disappointed.

Why, indeed?

"Well, it's all a bit cliché, isn't it?" he asked. "An impulsive, stupid kid who thinks he is the only one in the world who feels things so passionately that he has to inscribe them permanently on his skin."

"So, that's what you think this would be?" she asks, indicating her butterfly. "A grown woman finally getting her first tattoo in a sad attempt to seem bold and daring?"

"I didn't say that," Lucas tells her. "I didn't even think that. I was talking about myself, _only_ myself. I have no way of knowing what it would mean to you, but if you feel that way about it, I can see why you haven't done it yet. As for me, my thoughts _were _very cliché. I was just a kid then. Now that I'm older and wiser, which is a cliché in itself, I suppose, I'd like to think I have better ways of expressing the things I want the world to know."

They are close enough, both of them leaning over the drawing, that he could tell her what he wants her to know with just a tilt of the head and a brush of the lips. There's no reason not to try. He _knows_ it would be too forward, but he'll be gone within a week. Maybe that's what makes him hesitate.

"Hey, buddy, you're holding up the line!"

Lucas jumps back. The girl balls up the napkin and stuffs it into her pocket. The guy behind him shoves forward and starts giving his order. Lucas stands out of the way for a bit, watching. Eventually, the girl makes eye contact, smiles her dimples at him, and blushes. He grins back, toasts her with his water, and waves goodbye.

THE WEEK PASSES ASTONISHINGLY QUICKLY. On three occasions, Lucas sees a face in the crowd that seems a bit too familiar. When he snaps a quick picture with his phone and sends it to Ruth, he is relieved and slightly embarrassed each time to find that the person in question is a legitimate spectator somehow connected to one of the teams or to the international Little League organization. This assignment really is turning out to be a busman's holiday, just as Harry said it would be. He has enjoyed a cruise on the _Hiawatha,_ a stroll through the local history museum, a free concert in a local park, and a tour of the Peter J. McGovern Little League Museum.

Except for the work he has created out of his own paranoia and checking on his target daily, the visit to the Little League Museum is the only thing Lucas has had to do on this mission so far. Between exhibits, he visits the gents to collect the first of three flash drives Alexei Pomelnikov has promised to deliver in exchange for new identities, UK passports, and protection for himself and his family. He sends the data to Tariq from his phone and has it verified before he even leaves the toilet stall. Then is free to do as he pleases until the Russian team is knocked out of the tournament.

Not knowing what else to do with himself now that he can do anything he wants, Lucas goes to the ballpark every single day, watches more games than he had ever intended, and eats enough hot dogs to feed an entire Little League team… _and_ their parents… maybe _twice_.

Sometimes, the concession is so busy that someone else takes his order before the girl with the ponytail and dimples even sees him. When that happens, he takes his food and shuffles to the back of the crowd where he stands there eating, waiting for her to look up and notice him She always does, eventually, and when she does, he offers her a wave and gets a smile in return.

Other times, he manages to time his visits when business is slow and they have time to talk. She'll tell him about a good local restaurant or a place to buy fresh home-grown produce when he is sick of restaurant fare. She advises him to try the Riverwalk along the Susquehanna and to go night fishing at Rose Valley Lake, if he has a license and is into that kind of thing – he won't catch anything, but the bullfrog chorus is, in her opinion, one of the most soothing sounds in the world. It makes her smile every time, even just to talk about it.

Sometimes she tells him about local history: how Williamsport was the lumber capital of the world in the latter half of 19th Century; how the Underground Railroad ran through several of the area farms and saw escaped Southern slaves safely to freedom in New York State and Canada; how it was a Williamsport man, Joe Lockard, who first spotted the Japanese on their way to bomb Pearl Harbour in 1941, but his warnings were disregarded because the powers that be thought he was misinterpreting images of American bombers arriving from the mainland. Other times, she tells him about her own life and family: about the private cemetery on her uncle's farm with headstones having birth dates as old as the end of the 1600's and a headstone on an empty grave for a local preacher whose body had vanished from her great-great-grandfather's barn where services were held between the death and the burial; about an ancestor farmer whose son was paid by a merchant in a nearby town to fight under the name of the merchant's only son during the American Civil War because the merchant wanted to uphold his family's long tradition of honourable military service, but was afraid to risk his only son's life. Her relative was just sixteen years old when he died at the Battle of Gettysburg and was buried under the other boy's name.

She tells him how Hurricane Agnes flooded the creekside cabin where she lived with her parents in 1972, filling it with water to the living room ceiling before washing it away, and he is surprised to learn that she is a couple of years older than him. He's been thinking of her as 'the hotdog girl' all week, even though he would have guessed her to be in her mid-thirties and certainly a mature woman; and it is hard to believe that he was off by more than half a decade. It's understandable, too, though. There's not a grey hair on her head, and she doesn't have a line on her face except for when she smiles. He searches for a flattering way to tell her she's older than he thought, but by the time he thinks of something, the conversation has moved on.

Sometimes, she peppers him with questions about the UK and London in particular. She asks about the Crown Jewels and the Tower of London, the Stone of Scone, Westminster Abbey, the London Eye, and Buckingham Palace. She is disappointed time and again that he's never been there, never done that because he didn't want to spend the day waiting in lines. The only thing he can tell her about which she doesn't already know more than him is that a lot of tourists mistake impressive and iconic Tower Bridge for the current London Bridge. It shames him to realize that he has a whole country to talk about and doesn't know as much history and lore as she does about the few square miles surrounding her hometown.

Their conversation ranges far and wide, when they get the chance to chat; but it never again gets as personal as the talk about the butterfly tattoo, and Lucas has the strangest feeling that he regrets the missed opportunity. He feels a bit daft, too, for regretting it. After all, he knew from the moment they met that he would only be here for a few days, and it wouldn't be fair to either of them to try to establish a connection that would have to be severed so quickly.

On Saturday he realises he has seen the hotdog girl every day for a week and it prompts him to ask if she has used up all her time off from work to volunteer at the concession.

"Nooo," she scoffs. "I'm a teacher! I get summers off!"

He laughs. From the sarcasm in her tone and from what he knows about teachers in the UK, he doubts she really gets summers 'off'. More likely, her holidays are filled with tutorials and seminars for struggling students, professional education courses, department meetings, lesson planning, and volunteer work.

"So, what do you teach?" he asks.

"Well, in the curriculum guide, it's just called English," she says. "Each course is comprehensive in that it covers short fiction, poetry, essays, plays, and novels and it teaches creative and academic writing, reading comprehension, literary criticism and analysis, grammar, and vocabulary building. English Nine is sort of an intro to literature. Ten is world lit, including English translations of the classics and modern interpretations of various myths and legends. Eleven is American Lit, and I teach Twelve, Brit Lit."

The impish grin she gives him with the dimples and the sparkling eyes makes him want to laugh aloud. Instead, he says, "You know, I really didn't have any way of figuring that out. I mean, I am an Englishman, what else are you going to ask me about?"

When she says nothing and just continues to smirk, he begins to feel as though she has somehow got the better of him, and he isn't sure whether that should bother him or not.


	3. Coincidental Ally

_**Busman's Holiday**_

_Chapter Two: Coincidental Ally_

DESPITE THE SWELTERING HEAT, LUCAS IS NOT EAGER FOR TODAY'S GAME TO END. The Russians have had four consecutive, hard-fought wins, which no one expected, and suddenly, they are facing off against the similarly undefeated U.S. Mid-Atlantic team for the World Championship. He goes to the concession stand several times looking for the hotdog girl and is disappointed each time to find that she isn't there though he has no idea what he wants to say to her. He can't imagine that he would ever give her his phone number, and he wouldn't have the heart to ask for hers because he knows he'd never call. He can't tell her he'll be leaving the country in a few hours. He doesn't flatter himself to think she'd be upset, but it doesn't fit with the cover story he gave her. All he knows is that he wants to see her once more, and she isn't there. He thinks about asking after her only to realize that he never got her name.

U.S. Mid-Atlantic beats Russia by one run in extra innings. Of course there are tears on one side and cheering on the other, and all the kids are given the time they need to deal with their emotions. Lucas's mind is all on his mission, now, but as he keeps an eye on Alexei without appearing to do so, he finds himself searching for the hotdog girl in the crowd. Didn't she say something about cheering for the Mid-Atlantic team? After the high fives that seem to be a ritual in this sport, at least amongst the children, the Russian team leaves the field while the Americans continue to celebrate and sit for interviews.

Lucas forces himself to focus and heads out of the stadium to linger near the field house, now, where the boys have gone to console each other and be comforted by their coaches, host families, and those of their parents who could make the trip from Russia. He sends Alexei a short message, "41.240283,-77.000784. 00:40," from his phone, goes to the concession for one last hot dog with sauerkraut, and stands there watching the crowd as he eats.

It is amazing how resilient eleven- and twelve-year-old boys are. Within half an hour, their tears have turned to laughter and friendly teasing. Those who aren't begging the adults in their group for money to buy cotton candy and ice cream are approaching other children asking in broken English to swap the pins that are a sort of souvenir currency of the Little League experience. Eventually the American team comes out of the stadium and the Russian boys join the remaining crowd in cheering this year's champions. The display of good sportsmanship actually causes a lump to form in Lucas's throat as he sees these boys now, their support and kindness for each other, and wonders where everything goes so wrong on their way to adulthood. How do such good kids on both sides grow into such savage and selfish adults?

Lucas lingers at the ballpark until Alexei and the boys get into their designated vehicles and leave the car park. Then he makes one last pass by the concession stand. The hot dog girl is not there. It makes him a little sad, but he realizes it is probably for the best; he wouldn't want her to remember him with his shirt soaked with sweat and his hair plastered to his forehead. He walks to the bus stop and catches the Little League Express, sighing as he sinks into a seat in the air-conditioned comfort. It's a bloody long ride today, because it is a Sunday and it's the only bus running, and only because of the Little League game, but eventually it drops him at the Loyal Plaza, a shopping centre less than a block from his lodgings.

He pops into the Giant market where he buys some fruit and baby carrots, granola bars, a vegetable focaccia, a quarter of a pound each of chorizo and salami at the deli, a hunk of New York State extra sharp white cheddar cheese (which he finds compares quite favourably with its yellow-orange namesake from the UK), and some bottled water. He doubts Alexei will be hungry when they meet in the middle of the night, but they'll have to keep low for a full day before their ride out of the country can collect them and some snacks might come in handy. As luck would have it, the store also sells a limited selection of t-shirts and baseball caps touting the city and various local schools. Deciding a change of clothes might be convenient in case someone starts looking for Alexei, he buys a Penn State shirt and cap in what he thinks might be the other man's size. He seems to remember there was a scandal involving the university recently, but he knows he's seen enough of the logo that it shouldn't attract any unwarranted attention. For himself he selects a t-shirt and cap emblazoned with Williamsport, PA, and then checks out at one of the self-serve chip and pin machines.

It's a short walk back to his room at the EconoLodge. When he gets there, the first thing he does is put the air conditioner on maximum cool and maximum fan. Then he just stands there, in front of the blower with his arms spread out, letting the cold air dry his sweaty clothes until he feels goose bumps rise up on his skin. Just short of shivering, he has to get moving before he actually gets cold. Fortunately, he has things to do.

First, he lays out a change of clothes for later, dark jeans, a black cotton polo shirt, and a black linen jacket. Then he takes just a few minutes to pack two bags. The first one, a military issue backpack that he brought with him from London, holds his laptop, his false backup IDs, the snacks and the two changes of clothes he's just purchased, a pair of night vision binoculars, all the paperwork for Alexei's new identity, and the flash drive from the museum men's room, well-hidden in a secret compartment. The second one, an empty grocery sack, holds the rest of his clothing, most of it bought exclusively for this trip, which will be discarded in one of the charity bins along the way to his meeting with Alexei. The day he arrived in town, Lucas rented a car to take them to the extraction point and left it in a multi-storey car park downtown. He locked a small suitcase in the boot with a change of clothes for each of them so they can freshen up on the trip home, but if something goes terribly wrong and he can't get to it, it won't really matter anyway. Since he won't be flying out by a commercial airline, there will be no one to question his lack of luggage.

Once the bags are packed, Lucas opens the safe in his room and sends Ruth his silent thanks. He doesn't know how and he will never ask because they each have their own private assets and it isn't polite to inquire, but Beth, clever, vivacious, resourceful Beth, has found someone to deliver him two handguns, which he hopes he won't need but is immensely grateful to have. The 9mm comes with a clip-on nylon holster that tucks inside his waistband at the small of his back so his shirt or jacket can fall down over it and hide it. The little .22 has an ankle holster that will easily be concealed under the leg of his jeans. Of course, someone who knows what to look for will easily spot them, but the average person in the dark of night will never guess he is carrying two guns on him. All he has to do is avoid being patted down by the police. Lucas checks the weapons, makes sure the actions work smoothly, and loads them both before placing them on the dresser above where he has set his two bags.

While he's been packing, his phone has chirped twice letting him know he has received two messages from Alexei. Everyone in his phone has a unique ringtone, so he always knows if he needs to drop what he's doing to answer. The first, a message sent out to the team's entire mailing list is brief: "Mid-Atlantic 7, Detskiy Park 6, in 9. Play-by-play in e-mail later." The second, a private message to Borzoi-1, is even briefer: "41.240283,-77.000784. 00:40. Da." Alexei will meet him at the designated place and time.

Now that he is all packed and ready to go, Lucas needs to call Harry. It's after midnight back home again, so he leaves a message. "Hello, Dad. My date for your party has finally confirmed. We'll be leaving around noon tomorrow. Talk to you then."

The party is their pickup, a private helicopter owned and piloted by one of the Dimitri's U.S. contacts who will collect them at one of the gas drilling pads north of town and deliver them to a British freighter in international waters as it leaves the New York/New Jersey Port Authority on its way back to the UK. Noon is midnight, that was the agreed upon code. Any specific time he mentions is offset by twelve hours later, local time. Harry will see Lucas's call has been made on Sunday evening, again, local time, so he will know tomorrow means Monday. The date, of course, is Alexei, and Lucas will call when they are safely away.

Now there is but one thing left to do before he heads off to meet Alexei. For Lucas, it is the hardest part of any mission: the waiting. It's more than six hours until he picks up Alexei and another twenty-three until they meet their ride out of the country. He knows he should try to get some rest, but he is just as certain that he won't sleep. He settles for kicking off his shoes and curling up under the duvet. He sets the alarm on his phone to alert him at eleven o'clock. That will give him plenty of time to shower, dress, and walk the three miles to the coordinates where he will meet Alexei. Until then, he might not sleep, but he can rest his body for a while.

LUCAS IS SURPRISED TO FIND HIMSELF WAKING UP WHEN HIS ALARM GOES OFF. When he has the thought that days of sitting in the sun have made him lazy, it makes him smile. He can't remember the last time he was able to just sit back and relax, but this mission has come very close to being a holiday. He's even had a summer romance.

The thought of the hotdog girl makes him a little sad again. She had a real spark, that one, and under other circumstances… But it wasn't to be. He knew going in that he had a job to do, and that's why he'd kept her at arm's length. It was the right thing to do. It saved him a lot of explanations, most of which would have, of necessity, been lies, and it maybe saved her a bit of a heartbreak if she was half as attracted to him as he was to her.

Still, he wishes he had at least asked her name.

With a sigh, he rolls off the bed, strips and stuffs his clothes, including his boxers, into the plastic grocery bag with the things he's going to donate to charity. Then he adjusts the air conditioning so it isn't quite so frigid, and goes into the bathroom for a shower. He's washed, dressed, shaved, armed, and ready to go in under fifteen minutes. Eight years in a Russian prison will do wonders for speeding up one's usual toilette, and eight minutes of water-boarding will keep one from ever wanting to luxuriate in the shower again.

Lucas shakes his head to ward off the memories and frowns when his stomach growls. The hot dogs and other junk food he had at the ballpark were tasty, but not filling. He has ten minutes to spare, more if he walks quickly, so he takes out the focaccia, cuts himself a wedge, slices it in half like a roll, puts a slice of chorizo and a slice of cheddar inside, and warms it in the little microwave provided by the hotel. It's light, but filling, and between the soft bread, the slight sweetness of the fresh peppers and onions on the focaccia, the creamy cheddar, and the chewy, salty chorizo, it hits all his taste buds' high points and leaves him satiated without feeling stuffed.

Deciding it is time to go, he packs the food back in his bag, leaves a generous tip for the hotel maid, and steps out into the night. The heat hits him like a physical blow, taking his breath away almost as effectively as the cold on a bitter Russian winter's morning. It is almost tropical and so humid, he can feel the moisture condensing on his cool skin and clothes. But there is a breeze, a very balmy, moist breeze, that it hints at rain to come. He just hopes the storm doesn't break while he is outside waiting for Alexei.

LUCAS KEEPS A BRISK PACE AS HE WALKS HALFWAY ACROSS TOWN. He is soaked with perspiration again before he leaves the hotel's grounds, but he hardly notices. He's eager to get on with his mission, and he can't shed his jacket anyway. He doesn't have a permit to carry a firearm here and doesn't want to risk it being seen beneath his shirt. He could stuff it in his bag, but it would take too long to get to it if he really needs it, so he just keeps his jacket on and looks forward to washing up when he's on the ship headed home.

He barely has to slow down to toss the plastic bag of clothes into the first charity bin he passes. One thing he noted when he first arrived in town was the abundance of such bins, usually a bright red or blue, sitting in car parks all over the city. They were a bloody nightmare in London, all those unattended boxes, just waiting for some nutter or fanatic to drop a bomb in one. It doesn't help his sense of security to realize how many of them here and back home are outside of convenience stores, frighteningly close to petrol pumps and underground tanks. He smiles and shakes his head thinking how nice it must be to live in such a safe, friendly little town where you can welcome the world to drop in for a visit once a year and not have to worry about some psychopath blowing your guests to hell and gone just to make a political statement.

Then he sighs. After the life he's lived, he would be bored to death.

He gets to the location where he's arranged to meet Alexei a good twenty minutes early. It's plenty of time to check things out and get into position. He makes sure the rental car still starts and that it has a full tank of petrol and air in the tyres. Then he checks both his guns once more and scouts the building to reacquaint himself with its layout. It's twelve thirty by the time he gets into position to watch for Alexei from the top level of the facility where he should be able to see the Russian's approach well in advance and also determine whether he's being tailed.

On the roof of the car park, Lucas sheds his backpack and pulls out his binoculars. They're almost more than he needs given the abundance of street lights along Market Street, but two sides of the car park are lined by shadowy alleyways and he needs to see into them, too. When the full moon peeks out of the clouds they give him a clearer view into dark places, and that is what he needs at this time of night even more than the distance vision. There's some heat lightning flashing from cloud to cloud, but Lucas isn't too worried about it reaching the ground. There are enough buildings around taller than the car park, some of them with lightning rods or metal flagpoles, that he doesn't present a likely target. The one problem he can foresee with the lightning is if a bright flash strikes nearby while he is using the binoculars and leaves him with an after-image that interferes with his vision.

Lucas expects Alexei will be approaching from the south across the Market Street Bridge because it is the shortest route from his accommodations at the Grove in the Little League Complex. He won't be able to see Alexei until he reaches the top of the arched bridge, but it will give him ample time in which to spot if he has picked up a tail. The back-alley entrance to the car park will provide him a certain amount of privacy in which to deal with any interlopers.

Not for the first time, he wonders if he possesses some sort of genetic defect that makes him enjoy these kinds of situations. Even the very night he was returned to the UK, exhausted, malnourished, mentally and emotionally fragile after spending eight years being tortured and interrogated in a Russian prison, all he wanted was to go right back to work. The idea of taking it easy, resting and recovering in a hotel room or a safe house, had utterly terrified him. He didn't deny that part of it was a need to prove he was still man enough to do his job, and certainly he didn't want to be left alone after seemingly endless months of solitary confinement; but since then, he'd destroyed Arkady Kachimov, sent Oleg Darshavin back to his Russian hell as the Damned instead of the Devil, and re-built his reputation as one of the best men in MI-5. Now, he has nothing to prove, no ghosts to fear, he is comfortable living on his own, and sometimes he even enjoys his solitude, so why does he still crave the action?

Lucas shrugs. It doesn't really matter anyway. Back when he first got home, he'd asked Malcolm to help him catch up on world events by sending him articles off the internet that would be interesting and informative. Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, he followed the links from one story to another until the wee hours of the morning. Somewhere in all that information he came across a story or two on the so-called 'Fearless Gene'. Deciding he's not defective but merely wired differently from the average bloke, he looks over the edge of the building to the street below.

There is just enough foot traffic this evening that one man walking alone will not particularly stand out. Between the remaining Little League visitors and the students from the two local colleges that have just started sessions in the past week, there are quite a few stragglers heading home after last call. Some of them are dressed in flashy, fashionable club apparel, but a good many are wearing shirts emblazoned with Little League or school logos. It is tempting to categorize them as students or tourists on that criterion alone, but Lucas considers the clothes he just bought for himself and Alexei and knows it would a mistake. Anyone up to no good is going to try to blend in, and the clothing would be the easiest way to accomplish that. So he starts watching the various knots of people and how they behave, discounting the clothing and looking for anything out-of-the-ordinary.

He hears shrieking and raucous laughter below him on Laurel Street. As he watches, two drunken girls stagger onto Church Street, supporting a boy between them. College kids, he decides, stumbling home after last call. The one girl's absurdly short skirt and the other's ridiculously high heels rule them both out as potential enemies. They can't possibly do anything useful dressed like that, though he imagines they could have a hell of a lot of fun.

As he patrols the rooftop, conversation drifts up from the hotel across the street from the car park. Looking down, he sees a couple about to enter the hotel. From their age, their dress, and their hand-holding, he assumes they are Little League parents coming back from a last night on the town while their child is staying at the Grove with his or her team.

A door opens and closes, accompanied by the ringing of a bell. Lucas looks to his left and sees the owner of the tobacconist shop across Court Street getting into his car and heading home. It's quite late for the proprietor to just be leaving, but from his perch above the city, Lucas is able to watch as he takes Court Street down to Third, and turns right. A few moments later, Lucas recognizes the car a block over as it turns left onto Market, and heads out of sight as quickly as it can safely go, probably making for one of the residential neighbourhoods north of the city's centre.

One after another, Lucas is able to disregard the people down on the street as no cause for concern. At the southwestern corner of the building, he again hears conversation and this time, he sees flashes of light from below. Looking down, he sees a group of about fifteen Asians, probably Japanese or Chinese, perhaps Korean, even when he's meeting them face to face, he can never be sure, but they are all wearing cameras and taking turns snapping pictures of the rest of the group. He gives a silent laugh as they head into the hotel. It would seem there is a kernel of truth in almost every stereotype.

Down on Canal Street, Lucas hears an engine and he is instantly on high alert. Nobody has reason to be driving _into_ this part of town now that the bars have closed. True, there is a Wegman's supermarket a few blocks away, but it has abundant parking, isn't very busy at this hour, and no delivery van would choose the narrow back streets to get to the delivery doors on the far side of the market just off broad and straight Hepburn Street.

He looks down and sees a dark minivan cruising slowly by and turning north onto Court Street. Just before the pedestrian crossing at the corner of the car park, it turns left into the tour bus loading area on the ground floor and doesn't come out again.

Lucas hears two doors slam. Conversation drifts up from the street, not Russian, but something he can almost grasp, as similar as broad Scots is to English. The van's passengers stay to the shadows and head southward, back the way they had come, where they had bypassed plenty of well-lit parking spaces closer to whatever their destination was supposed to appear to be. It is definitely suspicious. Suspicious enough that Lucas thinks a change in plans is warranted.

He heads to the car park's northeast pedestrian exit and goes lightly down the stairs. Instantly, he begins to sweat again, and thinks he will be stinking like a horse that's been put up wet by the time he gets to the ship that will take him home. Then he puts the heat and the sweat and the smell and his own discomfort out of his mind. There are more important things requiring his attention. His blood is pumping and he can't deny that the potential for a conflict has him a little excited.

With a bit of effort, it shouldn't be hard to intercept Alexei before the strangers spot him. He sprints across Market, glad that he picked this time of night when traffic was light for his rendezvous. With four wide driving lanes, a turning lane, and a concrete median to cross, it would be almost impossible to cross quickly in the daytime without getting hit or at least causing an accident, and that's the kind of attention and potential injury he needs to avoid. Slowing to a jog, he heads southward toward the bridge and just prays that Alexei won't cross now to avoid him. He spots the intruders exiting Canal Street just as Alexei draws even with them on the opposite side of Market. He really doesn't want to attract attention, but he has no choice other than to continue jogging if he is to catch Alexei before he wanders right into his would-be kidnappers.

He meets Alexei about ten yards north of Canal and takes him by the arm. "_I am Borzoi-1," _he introduces himself in his Moscow-accented Russian. "_There is trouble waiting for you across the street. We must go another way. I will keep you safe._"

The shout he hears from the median in the not-quite-Russian language helps to convince Alexei to cooperate without any discussion. The Little League coach willingly follows Lucas as clambers up on the wall that blocks traffic from straying off the end of the bridge and into the car park of Saint Mark's Lutheran Church and drops to the ground on the other side. He leads Alexei southward past the church, and as they turn east onto Jefferson, away from the car park and their transportation, he glances back and sees that their pursuers have split up. One is chasing them down Jefferson, and the other must be running parallel to them on Canal Street. There is only one way to go at the end of Jefferson, north on State Street toward Canal; but Lucas is determined not to be caught in that trap.

Instead of going all the way to State Street, Lucas turns at the end of the church building and guides Alexei into the courtyard. Saint Mark's is shaped like a gigantic letter C, and while Lucas crouches in the shrubbery just off the sidewalk waiting to see what their pursuer will do, he directs Alexei to try every door and window on the interior perimeter looking for a way into the building. As Alexei creeps about the courtyard, Lucas hears running footsteps on the street slow to a jog and then to a brisk walk.

The man who was following them strides right past the end of the church building, just feet from Lucas's hiding place. He is tall and broad-shouldered, and while Lucas doesn't fear a fight, he hopes to avoid one because it would alert the man's partner to their location and cost them time they do not have.

Lucas doesn't realise he has been holding his breath until he _has_ to breathe. He opens his mouth and inhales slowly, silently, resisting the urge to gasp for air because the sound might give him away. He peers down the street. The man is slowing. He reaches State Street, crosses it, walks just past a row arbor vitae planted in an island separating the street from another municipal car park, and when he turns and begins to stride purposefully back toward the church, Lucas knows he has worked out what they have done. Cursing silently, he moves backward on his elbows and knees and around the corner of the building where he can stand upright without being spotted from the street. If the man stays close to the wall for cover, Lucas may have a chance to take him out before he can alert his companion.

Glancing across the courtyard, Lucas sees Alexei at the last door. When the Russian turns and spots him, he gives a quizzical look and gets a negative shake of the head in response. Lucas is disappointed, but not surprised. Over the past few days, he has passed through this part of town just on the outskirts of the entertainment district often enough to realise that even a church must lock its doors when the building is unoccupied. Hoping the baseball coach can read signs off the baseball pitch as well as he gives them on it, Lucas motions for Alexei to follow the curve of the C back to an interior corner and hide in the deep shadows. He breathes a silent sigh of relief when the other man does exactly as he wishes. At least one thing is going right.

Too soon, Lucas hears soft footfalls on the grass. He knows he will have just one chance to stop his opponent without bringing others down upon him. As soon as the man moves into sight, Lucas launches himself at him and smashes a fist into his face with the full weight of his body in motion behind it. He feels bones crunch and hears a stifled cry of pain, but before the man can move or make another sound, Lucas gets behind him and snaps his neck with a quick twisting motion.

He glances up to see Alexei's pale face emerging from the shadows. He wishes his charge hadn't seen that, and then puts aside what can't be helped. He needs to decide whether to flee back the way they had come on Jefferson or to creep around the courtyard and exit the church grounds one block north on Canal Street. Jefferson leaves them exposed longer, but Canal is likely to take them closer to their pursuers.

Two seconds later, the decision is made for him when he sees the black minivan turn onto Jefferson from State Street. Melting into the shadows, he makes his way along the wall to Alexei and leads him around the other two sides of the courtyard to the side of the building bordered by Canal Street. There is no shrubbery across this end of the building, and as he and Alexei step out onto the exposed ground, Lucas hears a shout. Looking back over his shoulder, he sees two men pulling the body of their fallen comrade into the minivan.

"_This way!_" he hisses at Alexei, and as they bolt for Canal Street, he hears the squealing of tyres behind him.

Lucas has only a fraction of a second to make his next decision. He is not familiar with the back alleys and footpaths in this strange city, so he has to stick to the streets he has memorized from maps and satellite images.

If they turn left, back toward Market Street, the parking garage is only a block away, but at the end of Jefferson, the minivan _must_ turn north on Market and will likely meet them at the intersection of Market and Canal.

They can't backtrack. The only thing south of where they have been is the sound buffer for the bypass that allows through traffic to avoid downtown Williamsport. It's too high to climb over and would have them trapped like a couple of rats.

Their best chance is to travel north and east, away from their transportation. It means sprinting across a huge, well lit car park, but if they can just make it to the intersection of Church and State, they will have more cover and more options to lose themselves in the city and work their way back to the parking garage at leisure.

Fortunately, Alexei is the kind of coach who teaches and leads by example, so he is very fit and easily keeps pace. At the corner of Church and State, they turn left and jog one block further north to Third Street. Apparently, Americans who live in the smaller cities aren't much for walking. Lucas had noticed that days ago and realized if there was a problem, it would be hard to get lost in the crowd, even with the number of tourists in town. Still, it couldn't hurt to try.

If they can mingle in with the students heading back toward the Pennsylvania College of Technology in the West End of Williamsport after last call, they might be able to slip unnoticed into the parking garage, get their vehicle, and get out of town. At State and Third, Lucas stops and presses his back against the wall of the building beside them. Alexei imitates his actions without being told. Ducking out to look up Third Street for just a moment, Lucas instantly realises his mistake. They are at least two blocks east of the crowds leaving the bars, and they will be far too conspicuous traversing a main thoroughfare like Third Street with no other pedestrians on the sidewalk. Instead, he leads Alexei yet another block north, to Willow Street, part of which has been blocked off for pedestrian-only traffic and will force their pursuers out of the minivan.

Finally, they turn left and slow to a fast walk. They travel west as fast as they can without attracting attention, trying to catch the last of the drinking crowd, crossing Market Street, which is much too exposed, and turning down Court, which is empty this time of night. They're just two blocks from escape now, and Lucas resists the urge to break into a run. If they stick to the shadows and walk, they can remain inconspicuous. If the minivan drives past the end of the street, they might not even be spotted, whereas two men sprinting down the sidewalk are bound to attract attention.

Third Street crosses Court, and this time there is no avoiding it. It is a wide, open intersection with little cover, but still, Lucas would rather cross the broad avenue than walk along it. As they approach the edge of the last building on Court, Lucas advises Alexei to walk briskly, but not run.

"_Try to look like you know where you're going, but you're not in too much of a hurry to get there,_" he says.

Lucas's head is on a swivel, constantly watching for foot pursuit or the black minivan. They have crossed one of the two eastbound lanes when a big, black American saloon car pulls into the zebra crossing in front of them and blocks their path.

Lucas curses and considers telling Alexei to run for it, but there is literally nowhere to go. With all the shops closed, there is nothing to duck into, and they're still a block or two away from the crowds of inebriated students or tourists with whom they had tried to mingle. There is no cover back the way they came or running east and west along Third Street. If they had just made it through the crossing, there would have been shrubs and trees and even a service alley between buildings for them to duck into, but to try for it now is just asking for the car to run them down.

Then the passenger side window comes down.

Lucas sweeps Alexei behind him and reaches for the 9mm in the holster that's clipped to his belt and nestled against his back as a female voice calls out over a warbling country music song, "You look a little lost! Can I give you a lift?"

With his heart in his throat, Lucas leans over and looks into the car. The driver flashes him a dimpled grin and he almost laughs aloud in relief.

"The hotdog girl!" he exclaims.

"Glad you can recognize me without my uniform," she jokes as she leans over to turn down the blasting radio. "Hop in. Despite the courthouse being right here, this probably isn't the safest part of town to get lost in at this time of night."

There is a thump as she hits the power locks to let them in. Lucas sees the new dimple that has just formed in the side of the car, but either the girl's hearing is still affected by the loud music or she associates the thump with the noise of the locks disengaging because she doesn't seem to notice. He glances over his shoulder and sees a man dressed in black running toward them on Court Street from the direction of the parking garage.

Alexei naturally wants to know what is going on, and Lucas has a flash of doubt. They'd chatted and flirted every day at the ballpark. _Except today. Where was she? Is it too convenient, too coincidental, that she shows up just now?_

In his mind, he can feel the seconds tick by as his indecision brings their pursuers closer.

_As far as I know she was working at every game. There's no chance an enemy could have known I'd go to her concession stand. No way to ensure she'd get to wait on me, no guarantee that I'd be attracted to her. Besides, she never pursued me or sought me out, never probed too deep for information, at least not the kind of information someone who was trying to prevent Alexei's escape would want. _

He can't see how she could possibly be a plant, and now, glancing around, he _can_ see the black van pulling out of the end of Pine Street just a block away.

"_Get in,_" he commands Alexei as he as he scrambles around to the passenger side and gets in up front. "_I know her from the ballpark_. _She was working at one of the concession stands. She's our best chance right now._"

Alexei curses softly and gets into the back.

"SO, WHERE ARE YOU HEADED?" THE HOTDOG GIRL ASKS.

"Doesn't matter," Lucas tells her anxiously.

There is a thump as a bullet hits the car.

"What the…?" the girl mutters glancing around in an attempt to figure out what's just struck her vehicle.

Lucas flexes his hand, itching to pull the 9mm, but he has no clear angle to fire and he isn't sure he wants the girl to know he is armed just yet. There is a crack as a bullet hits the back window of the car.

"Shit!" the girl curses glaring into the rear view mirror at the damage. She takes hold of the door handle as if to get out and investigate its cause, and Lucas grabs her wrist.

"_Get down!_" he hisses at Alexei. "Just drive!" he commands the girl.

There is another crack, and the girl looks over her shoulder.

"Holy _shit_! Someone's shooting at us!" she yells. Looking at Lucas, she demands, "Who the hell _are_ you?"

"Time for that later," Lucas tells her. Then he gives her his best pleading look and a sincere tone, "Please, just help us."

There's another thud as a bullet hits the boot. This one comes through the back seat and imbeds itself in the right back door missing Alexei by only an inch or two.

The girl looks from Alexei to Lucas and commands, "Buckle up."

She throws the car into reverse, stomps on the accelerator and the big black beast roars to life. The tyres screech as she hits the brakes and squeal when she throws it into forward gear and mashes the accelerator to the floor again making a left onto Court Street taking them back the way they had come.

Just from the thrum of the engine, Lucas can guess that it's a V-8 with at least 300 horsepower. Even undercover as a rich playboy, he seldom has the opportunity to drive such a vehicle. He doesn't know what kind of engine the minivan has, but he hopes it isn't enough to keep up with the monster the hotdog girl is driving.

They've covered two blocks, crossing Willow, before he has a chance to think about where they're going or where he should ask her to take them, and when they shoot out of Court Street and turn right onto West Fourth, all he can say is, "I thought this street was one-way."

"It is."

"In the other direction."

"Yep."

"Christ."

Fortunately, traffic is light at this hour on a Sunday night or Monday morning, whatever you want to call it. They encounter only a couple of lorries and a tour bus, all of which the girl manages to easily avoid although it doesn't stop their drivers from blasting their horns. Lucas looks back over his shoulder and sees that the minivan isn't falling behind as quickly as he had hoped. He curses, but since there have been no shots fired for the last few blocks, he doesn't draw his gun.

They go about six blocks the wrong way on a major street, crossing from West Fourth to East Fourth. Thanks to the car's air conditioning, Lucas isn't overly warm anymore, but now he's broken out into a cold sweat. So much for the fearless gene.

With a squeal of tyres, the girl swings left onto a much narrower street that joins Fourth at an oblique angle. They pass what looks to be one of the city's two colleges. The street is lined with cars parked on both sides, and Lucas hears a crash behind them as the minivan skids on the turn and sideswipes some poor student's vehicle.

"Washington Boulevard's too busy," the girl mutters to herself. "Franklin it is, then."

They shoot across a major commercial intersection, running a red light in the process, and proceed down a quiet, mostly dark, tree-lined street that, like the road through the college campus, has cars parked on both sides. There is a sound of horns and tyres shrieking as the minivan encounters a lorry crossing its path, but it doesn't give up its pursuit.

Looking in the mirror again, the girl shouts, "Why don't you just go away?"

She doesn't slow down on the residential street. She just puts the lights on high beam, the better to see any pedestrians, and takes her half of the road out of the middle. After about three-fourths of a mile, she turns right. Lucas feels his stomach turn as she puts on another burst of speed, but this new road is broad, fairly straight, and not clogged with parked cars, so as long as she can keep the car between the kerbs, they should be all right.

"Damn it!" she growls. "I can't believe they made that turn!"

Lucas looks back and sees that the minivan took the turn with no trouble and is keeping pace even if it's not gaining.

"You're too far ahead of them," he advises, "giving them too much time to compensate. If you think you can flat outrun them, that's fine, but if you want to lose them by making them wreck, you need to let them get closer, so they don't have time to watch what you do and adjust to the curves and turns."

She glances his way, just for a moment, and says, "You say that like you've done this before."

"I've had my moments," he says. _Usually with Malcolm or Tariq advising me which route to take. Thank God she knows this city._

"Should I just go to the State Police Barracks?" she asks him.

"Please don't," Lucas says.

"Why not?"

"Because those blokes are here to take my friend with them or die trying," he tells her honestly. "You stop at the police station, they will run you over or shoot you down before you have a chance to get into the building. They will kill you and me and any cop who comes out to help until they can take Alexei."

"We're going to have a serious talk once we lose these creeps," she says. "You know that, right?"

"The less you know, the better off you'll be," he tells her.

"You just let me be the judge of that," she snarls. She glances in the mirror again and asks, "They're still too far back, aren't they?"

Lucas looks over his shoulder. "Yeah, unless you plan to outrun them."

They've covered nearly another two miles by now, passing a hospital and blowing through a red light.

"Hang on!" she says, and takes another hard left with the tyres squealing as she goes.

The road twists and turns through a patch of forest with too many blind curves and a steep hill with no guardrails where the bank falls away into a wooded ravine. For the first time in his life, Lucas feels carsick. The posted speed is thirty-five miles per hour. The girl is going over sixty. They crest a hill next to a farmhouse and the car is airborne. In the headlights, Lucas glimpses a cross with a wreath at the side of the road. Then the strong smell of cow manure assails them through Lucas's still-open window and he has to swallow hard to keep from vomiting. He can hear Alexei praying from the back seat. He's starting to wonder if maybe they shouldn't have taken their chances with the bullets.

"You know, I appreciate that you are helping us escape," he gasps as he puts his window up, "but it doesn't exactly count if you get us all killed in the process."

The hotdog girl actually _giggles._ "Relax," she tells him. "I could drive these country roads with my eyes closed by the time I was twelve."

"I'm sure I read somewhere that you have to be sixteen to get a learner's driving permit in Pennsylvania," he mutters.

"You do." She doesn't argue or explain, and that makes Lucas wonder whether he should be nervous.

The woods have given way to fields now, dotted with houses here and there. Lucas glances at the speedometer and realises she has slowed down just the tiniest bit. They've climbed a hill, and now she takes another tight right and they're rolling through more woods and fields again. There are still no guardrails, and this road isn't even paved.

Some fat, greyish-white creature with a pointed face and a naked tail like an enormous, rotund, dirty white rat, wanders out in front of them, and the girl automatically applies the brakes. Then she glances into the mirror, gasps, and steps on the accelerator again. For all the bigger it is, the creature creates a surprisingly powerful thump as they run over it. If running the animal down has any effect on the girl, she doesn't show it. For Lucas, it feels enough like a human body to make his stomach clench.

"I'm guessing you have a plan," he says.

"Working on it," she replies. "How close do you think I need to let them get to make them wreck on a tight dog-leg turn?"

"They've been trained for pursuit driving," he says. "I'd say…a car length, maybe less."

"Which would be close enough for a good shot to take out a tyre," she muses.

"Or a driver," he suggests.

"Thanks for that," she says and flashes him a maniacal grin.

"Just want you to have all the facts," Lucas says, and he feels his heart pounding in his chest. As much as he loves his job as a spook, he has never cared for high-speed pursuit, particularly when he is the one being pursued. This woman actually seems to be having fun. It makes him wonder again if he's been caught up in some elaborate ruse to humiliate him and kidnap Alexei.

"They haven't shot at us in quite some time," she says. "You said they want to take your friend."

"Right," Lucas agrees.

"I'm betting they won't shoot, even when they get in close range," she says. "Not now that he's in the car with me. They don't want to risk hurting him."

"You could be right, but it's really safer if you just lose them," he says.

"Are you kidding?" she says in surprise. "They _shot_ at me! They don't get to _do_ that and just walk away!"

Lucas decides not to point out that they were actually shooting at _him_ and she just happened to be there.

They're still rolling downhill, decelerating almost imperceptibly as they pass between a farmhouse on the left and a pond on the right. She takes a sharp right, follows along the edge of the pond, crosses a little bridge, and glances into the mirror before turning right again onto a broad paved road.

"Come on, you bastards," she mutters. "Don't let me lose you now."

_Maybe,_ Lucas thinks, _she's just a madwoman._

He's beginning to realize that they're travelling in a gigantic circle. Now they are on another wide road, fairly flat, with gentle curves. It's the perfect place to pull away from the minivan, but she's letting them gain on her. They pass through ever more fields and woods, a smattering of houses here and there, a little white church on the right, and a large, well-lit, institutional complex of some sort well away from the road on the left. A small herd of about five deer just manages to cross in front of the, causing the girl to cry out in surprise, and then the road twists and winds through a proper little neighbourhood with cross streets and stop signs, which she ignores.

By the time they emerge from the neighbourhood and into, of course, _more_ _bloody_ _trees_, the minivan is only about three lengths behind. The girl telegraphs her next move by tapping the brakes. Watching the way she keeps glancing into the mirror, Lucas suspects it is intentional. They cross a little bridge, and soon come up on a tar-and-chip road that rises from several feet below and merges onto the one they are travelling. It's an incredibly sharp right turn, almost doubling back on the way they have come as they are going back up the wrong leg of a Y-intersection. She takes it at about thirty miles an hour, and Lucas hears Alexei curse as he bounces around in the back seat when the undercarriage scrapes bottom on the little hump between the roads.

The minivan manages to follow with only a slight skid, and the girl immediately begins to accelerate again, but not too much. Judging by the way she was driving earlier, she could be taking this road at about sixty, but she's only doing forty-five; and she keeps glancing into the mirror. They go around a curve and the road straightens out a bit. She gets it up to fifty-five and could go faster, but she doesn't, and the minivan is closing fast. They come out of a patch of woods to a field on the right and steep bank rising up beside the road on their left.

"Cross your fingers, guys," is the only warning Lucas gets before he is whipped around like a banana in a blender as the road curves sharply to the left and then doubles back on itself in a vicious switchback before straightening out and heading up the hill through more fields and only a few trees this time.

There's no squeal of tires as the minivan skids on loose stones instead of smooth pavement. Instead, they hear only the sickening _crunch_ as the other vehicle ploughs head-on into a massive evergreen followed by the non-stop blare of the horn.

The girl kills the headlights, glances into the mirror one last time, and says, "Gotcha!"

They cross a derelict little bridge at about eighty miles an hour, and the road is paved again, a quarter of a mile after that, they make a left-right jog and they are once more on tar-and-chip. The road makes a ninety-degree right, they pass a bank of four mailboxes, and they turn left onto a dirt road. They thump and bounce up the driveway and roll to a hard stop in a darkened shed.

"That was a hell of a ride!" the girl says excitedly.

Lucas has to agree. It was amazing driving for a schoolteacher, and he can't help being suspicious about how she managed to cross his path exactly when he needed her.

But he decides he will take just one minute, literally one minute, to catch his breath before he starts asking questions.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	4. Stuck

_**Busman's Holiday**_

_Chapter Three: Stuck_

LUCAS BLOODY HATES KNIVES. For one thing, they're much too easy to improvise. Anyone with a grinding wheel, a flattish chunk of metal, and a couple of hours to spare can make a blade capable of cutting a throat or puncturing a lung. Though it's not a proper knife, a prison shiv can be made out of anything from a bedspring to a radio antenna to the steel shank out of a sturdy shoe. Even a sharpened plastic toothbrush handle can be deadly if it's thrust with enough force into the right spot in the chest or the belly or the back. Melt it with a cigarette lighter, set a razor blade in it, and it becomes a perfect weapon for slicing someone's throat.

Knives are also far too easy to conceal and access when carried on one's person. A gun, even a small one like a .22 makes a visible lump when holstered under clothing. A little two-shot Derringer pistol might be concealed in the pocket of a jacket, but getting to it in time to use it can be problematic. A knife, being straight, thin, and mostly flat is easily and invisibly carried inside a boot or up a shirtsleeve, and a stiletto can hide quite naturally inside the handle of a walking stick or an umbrella. For centuries, women with a mind to self-defence have been known to wear daggers and throwing knives for hair ornaments, and in recent decades to carry switchblades in their lipstick tubes. Modern materials like ceramic blades and polymer resin handles have even made it possible to fool metal detectors, and nowadays, the right kind of knife might only be detectable with a proper strip search.

For Lucas, one of the most frightening things about a knife is that it can be used soundlessly. Even the best suppressor on a gun still makes a small amount of noise. It's just a puff of air, but it can be heard when all is still, and even in the din of a party, ears that know the sound will hear it. There's also the click of the pin striking the primer when the trigger is pulled. A knife, by contrast, when stabbed into the right part of the body, can cause so much pain the victim can't even scream. It can sever the vocal cords or cause the victim to bleed out before he's even aware that he's dying. True, a gun can do all the same things, and from a distance, but not in utter silence.

Perhaps the best argument for choosing a gun over a knife for self-defence is that using a knife requires letting one's attacker get far too close for Lucas's liking. If he can reach his opponent to cut him with a knife, then his opponent, if properly trained and lucky enough, can hit, kick, bite, or disarm him and kill him with his own weapon. When it's his opponent using a knife against him, a cut or stab wound is painful proof of his own mistake in letting an assailant get near enough to touch him. While he has utter confidence in his hand-to-hand combat skills, he'd far rather hold an enemy just beyond arm's reach with a gun. It's much tidier and far less risky.

Finally, in Lucas's experience, people who choose knives for their primary weapon are very good with them, far more skilled than he is. They can throw them, very hard for a good distance with stunning accuracy, and they can cut and slice with surgical precision. It takes a fair understanding of anatomy, a hell of a lot of confidence, and not inconsiderable upper body strength to wield a knife effectively in combat. It takes even more skill to use a knife subdue an enemy before they know they're in danger, which is how Lucas suddenly realizes that he shouldn't have waited a whole minute to start questioning the hotdog girl.

"Next time a woman alone after midnight picks up you and your friend in a bad part of town, you really should ask yourself, 'Why is she not afraid?'" the girl tells him in a calm, even voice.

Lucas doesn't respond. He is afraid to do so much as speak or even swallow because he can feel the blade burning like fire where it is stuck a good half-inch deep into the flesh of his neck, dangerously near his carotid pulse.

"I think the first thing we need to do is tell your friend not to be a hero," she says calmly. "If he tries to move this knife, there is a very good chance it will nick a major artery and you will bleed out before we can get you out of the car."

Lucas doesn't dare so much as blink, but rolling his eyes to his right shows him that he is stuck in the car. She has parked so close to the wall on his side that he had no chance of getting out that way. He wonders if it was a conscious action or just coincidental. With the air conditioning off, it is far too warm inside the car, but he still has to suppress a shiver.

"Why don't you tell him that now?" she suggests.

Careful not to move too much as he speaks, Lucas obediently translates.

"Good."

She keeps her voice soothing when Lucas would have expected her to be smug, and it makes him wonder all the more who she is and what she is up to. She's much too calm in this situation to be a civilian, but she can't be working for an enemy power wanting to snatch Alexei out of his hands, can she? No one could have predicted that he would want a hot dog or that he would go to that particular concession or stand in her line. She certainly could not have been watching Alexei, could she? She was in the concession stand every time Lucas went to see her, she must have been working there. _Except for today._

"Can you speak his language well enough to translate for me as I talk?" she asks.

"I think so," he tells her. "But speak slowly."

"Ok, translate this," she commands. "I don't want to harm anyone, but I've obviously gotten myself some kind of trouble, and I don't know what it is yet."

She pauses to let Lucas catch up and then continues.

"Until I am satisfied that I understand what is going on and until I am convinced that the two of you mean _me_ no harm, I am going to treat you like prisoners. Cooperate, and no one gets hurt. Fight me and one of us is likely to die."

When he finishes translating, Lucas asks, "You really mean that?"

He's having trouble reconciling this stone-cold mercenary with the sweet, playful girl at the concession stand.

"Try me," comes the terse reply. "Now, I need you to very carefully raise your arms just a bit so your friend can reach around you and remove your belt."

Lucas follows her instructions and tells Alexei what she wants him to do. Lucas can feel the tremor in Alexei's hands as he fumbles with the buckle, and she obviously sees it because she says, "Tell him to calm down. Tell him to take a deep breath. Tell him you _believe_ me that I won't hurt either of you and that everything will be ok once we've had a chance to talk. As long as you both cooperate, no one will get hurt."

Lucas doesn't translate exactly that, but he does his best to calm Alexei. He can hear the anxious Russian take a few deep breaths, and from the corner of his eye, he sees the girl flash a smile. Her dimples are incredibly deceptive, making her look sweet and innocent when there is really a cold steel core.

"Reach your right arm up beside your headrest and tell him to use your belt to tie your wrist there, as securely as he can," she commands.

He translates and Alexei obeys. Lucas can feel his pulse rate starting to soar. He's having difficulty controlling his breathing, and he's quite concerned that the heaving of his chest is going to make the blade nick one of the arteries in his neck.

"Please," he says softly. He can't help himself.

"Shhhh," she soothes him. "Only a moment more." All along she has been using the tone one uses with confused old ladies and hysterical children. If not for the knife stuck in his neck, Lucas thinks it might even comfort him. "Now, move your left hand down by your hip and tell him to use his own belt to tie that wrist down to where the seat is bolted to the floor."

Lucas can't completely contain a small whimper, but he relays the instructions.

"I promise I won't hurt you as long as you give me no reason," she says.

Despite years of training and experience, his instincts tell him cooperate rather than resist. Something deep down tells him that she is sincere and won't harm him if he doesn't struggle. If she had wanted to hurt him, she could have done much worse already.

Next, she fumbles behind her for the button that puts down the rear passenger side window, has Lucas instruct Alexei to kneel in the back seat with his head stuck out, and then closes the window snugly against his neck so he can't go anywhere. Finally, the knife is removed from Lucas's flesh. He feels a small trickle of blood, but no warm spray against his face like he would notice if an artery were spurting. He takes great heaving breaths and struggles to control his shaking. He's not usually so frightened, even in perilous situations, but the girl has been so preternaturally calm and so far from what he expected that he can't even guess what might come next. He fears he has completely misjudged her, even worse than Sarah Caufield, and having his confidence so deeply shaken is utterly terrifying.

Moving quickly, she takes the keys from the ignition and disappears from sight. A moment later he hears the boot open, listens to her rummaging around a bit, and then hears it close again. She returns with a small white box and a gun. She tosses the box into the back seat beside Alexei and shows Lucas the gun. "I know this is only a .22," she says, "but I can take the eye out of a rabbit at thirty yards, so I can probably do the same to you. If I feel threatened in any way, we'll both find out. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Lucas confirms. "Look, we need to get out of here immediately. There's a good chance those blokes had friends backing them up, and they probably phoned in your license number. When they never come back, their friends are going to come looking for them."

"It will be all right," she says. "The car's not registered in my name nor is it registered to this address, and the property to which it is registered isn't in my name either."

"Then they'll go after whoever lives at that address," Lucas says.

"It's vacant," she replies, "and the owner is not an easy man to find."

Lucas thinks it's rather convenient, but he's in no position to accuse her of lying.

"Tell your friend I'm going to let him go, now," she says, allowing Lucas time to translate. "Tell him I'm good with a gun so he needs to move slowly and deliberately. Tell him I have put a first aid kit on the seat next to him. The white, green, and red bottle is a combination antiseptic and anaesthetic, the yellow tube is antibiotic ointment. There are several sizes of bandages. I want him to treat the cut on your neck."

The concern for his wellbeing surprises Lucas, but he tries not to show it. Alexei is not so discreet. She doesn't seem to mind. She appears to understand exactly why they might be puzzled by her behaviour and confused about her intentions, but she clearly has no plans to explain anything. She waits patiently and silently as Alexei cleans the small wound and puts a plaster over it. Lucas is almost certain that he's hurt himself worse shaving, and under the circumstances, it is strange that she would care about such an inconsequential thing.

The first aid completed, she inquires about Alexei's health citing the rough ride he received in the back of the car as reason for her concern. Once she is satisfied that he has suffered no physical harm, she instructs them both to remove their shoes and socks.

Alexei is able to obey quickly since his hands are free. Lucas has to kick off his shoes and toe off his socks, and the longer it takes him the more he worries that she will become impatient and lash out. It isn't until she tells him in that gentle, cajoling voice to 'just relax' that he realizes how much he is broadcasting his anxiety. It makes him want to laugh at himself for his earlier arrogance in thinking he was genetically adapted to face dangerous situations fearlessly. He takes a few deep breaths, slows down his frantic movements, and manages to get his right big toe inside his left sock and work it off his foot. The right sock soon follows in the same manner.

"Good," she says when he finally is barefoot. "Now, tell your friend he can untie you and hand me the belts. When he does, you put your hands on the dash of the car and keep them there so I can see them. I want him to get out of the car first. Tell him to keep his hands on his head and slide across the seat. When he gets out, I want him to walk to the front of the car and put his hands on the hood."

When Lucas frowns, she says, "I guess you call it the bonnet?"

He nods and translates. Alexei obeys. When his hands are free, Lucas places them flat in front of him, as far forward as he can reach. He tries to meet and hold Alexei's gaze while the girl frisks him. The mix of bewilderment, fear, and trust on the Russian's face makes Lucas's guts twist. It was supposed to be easy, just meet him, drive out of the city, climb into a helicopter, and away they would go, but something went wrong and he doesn't know what. He wishes he could explain more of what is going on, and it's not a lack of vocabulary that stops him. He just isn't quite sure himself what he's got into or why he believes they should just cooperate.

When the girl finishes searching Alexei, she binds his wrists behind him with heavy black plastic zip ties and gently pushes him forward until he is chest down on the bonnet of the car. Lucas has no idea where the ties came from, but he imagines she had them on hand in the garage for some purpose, and he supposes there are more for him. He has to get away before she ties him up, but she's had him or Alexei covered since the car stopped moving and from the stark look of terror on Alexei's face, he knows he can't count on the Russian for help if he should try to make a break for it.

When she's finished with Alexei, the girl orders Lucas to give her his backpack. She's clever enough to instruct him to keep his left hand on the dash of the car so he has to reach across his body with the right, making it impossible to throw it to her or at her with enough force to her put her off balance. Her search of the bag is quick but thorough. She pockets Lucas's fake identification and Alexei's new identity papers, hangs the binoculars on a nail in one of the studs on the shed wall, briefly examines his laptop and then shoves it back in the pack and sets the bag on the ground where Lucas will have to go through her to get to it if he wants to grab it and run.

Finally, she tells Lucas to get out of the car. It is awkward manoeuvring around the handbrake and the gearshift, but he supposes that is part of the point. She has left the back door open, an obvious obstacle if he should try to flee, and she stands in the narrow gap between the open door and the wall, so that his best avenue of escape is completely blocked. Of course, he won't try to do a runner with Alexei stuck between the back wall and the car, but her very deliberate control of the physical space around her only increases Lucas's certainty that she has had some specialized training, police or military, he isn't sure, but it's definitely not something one would expect of an ordinary school teacher.

The moment he steps out of the car, Lucas can breathe easier. The air isn't any cooler, there's barely any breeze, and it's still muggy, but it's not as stuffy. Just a few breaths of the better quality air seems to provide him more oxygen, and he can feel himself growing calmer. As his mind clears, he tries to negotiate with the girl.

"Look, can we talk about this before we go any further?"

"No."

She guides him around the open driver's door and directs him toward the front of the car where he supposes he is going to be made to stand beside Alexei. Instead, she has him stop next to the driver's side wheel and turn toward the vehicle. She shoves him hard up against the car and with a hand at the back of his neck forces him down to rest his cheek against the still-warm bonnet. She isn't so strong that he couldn't fight her off, but she still has that bloody gun and Alexei's only way out is past her. It's a risk Lucas can't take, so he has to let her push him around.

He tries humour. "If you're angry that I didn't try to get your phone number…"

She is not amused.

"Shut up!" she snaps and kicks his ankles apart with far more force than is necessary.

"If you'll just let me exp…"

He falls silent as his own 9mm is pulled from its holster in the middle of his back and stuck against the base of his skull. There is no mistaking the sound of it being cocked.

"One more word out of turn, and I will gag you," she threatens. "That will leave no one to translate for your friend, which will likely provoke him to panic and do something stupid, which will probably result in one or both of you getting shot!"

Lucas doesn't even respond. His silence is enough to convey his understanding.

The girl gives him a thorough pat-down. In addition to the 9mm, which slides from the base of his skull to the centre of his back, she finds the .22 in the ankle holster under his jeans, and the switchblade in his right front trouser pocket. She also confiscates his passport, his mobile, and his wallet, which holds a garrotte made of a length of wire with a ring at each end for him to hold onto. Then she slides one of the belts around his neck and pulls it snug. It's not uncomfortably tight, but she has taken deliberate care to place it across his Adam's apple. One good, hard pull will choke him at the very least, or even crush his larynx and suffocate him. He tries hard not to think of it as a leash. He honestly doesn't believe she intends to humiliate him. She's only acting with an abundance of caution and rightly sees him as the primary potential threat to her safety.

"Tell your friend to stay right where he is," she instructs, and as Lucas obeys, she takes up his pack. He notices that she's prudent enough to put the straps over both shoulders so as not to risk it slipping at a bad moment. She reaches up onto a shelf and retrieves a large electric torch. Close to two feet long, it probably takes six batteries and weighs around three pounds, and it will make a hell of a good club if she needs one. Lucas has no doubt that it was purchased with that alternative use in mind. She holds in the same hand as the belt she has fastened around Lucas's neck, making it possible to light their way and control him with one hand while still carrying the gun in the other. He debates the wisdom of fighting her, but he suspects that the same training that taught her how to control a scene and restrict a subject's movement also taught her how to defend herself quite well, and between the belt, the torch, and the gun, he's at a distinct disadvantage.

She stands him upright, tells him to move around the car doors rather than closing them, and walks him out into the driveway. It is painful to walk on the gravel, but she directs him to a patch of grass growing up between the tyre tracks, and it is much more comfortable for standing.

"Call Alexei out," she says. "Tell him to walk ahead of us. I want him to go to the right, up the hill to the corn crib."

Lucas hesitates.

"Well?"

"Corn crib?" he inquires.

"The wood frame and wire structure at the top of the driveway on the right," she says. "Where we store the kind of grain you call maize. You'll see it when you get out into the driveway."

"I'm impressed with your knowledge of British English," he tells her.

"I watch a lot of BBC," she replies. "_Doctor Who_, _Torchwood_, period dramas, Ramsey's _Kitchen Nightmares_, sometimes even _Top Gear_ when they're not being completely idiotic. Now, please, translate," she says, giving him a nudge.

She keeps Alexei about ten feet ahead of them, far enough that Lucas can't provide cover for him to escape. It's slow going on the gravel in their bare feet, but she doesn't rush them.

"Tell him he can keep to the dusty patches and the grass in the middle," she says. "The pea gravel is also easier to walk on, but there's poison ivy along the edges of the drive. It will make you break out in an itchy, blistery rash."

Lucas translates, and he begins to think she really meant what she said about not wanting to hurt them. He decides to try to reason with her again.

"I'm really not a bad guy," he begins.

"I'm inclined to believe you," she says. "I will hear you out. But I want to get you secured before I let you distract me with conversation. If you convince me of your mission, maybe I can even help you."

Lucas wants to believe her, too, but after Sarah Caufield, he isn't sure whether to trust his judgement.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	5. Interrogation

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Four: Interrogation_

THEY TAKE A DETOUR ON THE WAY TO THE CORN CRIB. The girl directs Lucas and Alexei into a squat, square, wooden-framed building with a roof and walls of corrugated tin. It looks to be a combination workshop and tool shed. Lucas stands there blinking in the brightness of the lights the girl has just turned on and sees that the walls are hung with saws and scythes, rakes and pitchforks, shovels, brooms, picks, hoes, and antique hand tools the names of which he has never known. If he thought for one moment that she might be inclined to use pain to make them talk, he surely would be intimidated by now, but everything about this woman tells him he can trust her. He finds it impossible to imagine that she would use force against anyone who could not fight back. When Alexei expresses his anxiety, Lucas does his best to calm him, which naturally brings a question from the girl.

"What are you saying?" she demands harshly.

"He asked if you were going to hurt us, and I told him I don't think so," Lucas answers truthfully.

"You're right," she says more gently. "I won't, unless you make me. Tell him I'm separating you so you can't gang up on me. I'm going to restrain him so he can't run, and then I'm going to talk to you. After that, I'll come back and check on him. Depending on what you tell me, I'll either help you, let you go, or call the police to come and collect you."

As Lucas translates, he realizes two things. Firstly, the girl's plan is not firmly set in her mind yet. She's making it up as she goes along. Secondly, her flexibility and spontaneity are great strengths. She's thinking quickly, adapting, and incorporating better ideas into her plan, not scrambling around in a panic from one moment to the next as if she doesn't really know what to do. If he had still entertained any illusions that she was struggling to cope, they would certainly be dispelled now. Whatever training she's had, she knows what she's doing. She's at least his match intellectually, gained the physical advantage over him the moment she stuck him with that bloody knife, and has the strategic advantage of knowing this location and the resources it offers. Lucas is still reasonably confident that she is not his enemy, but he knows that if he is wrong, he is dead and there is no telling what will become of Alexei.

While Lucas is contemplating his situation, she pushes him away from her and further into the building with surprising force. She doesn't quite let go of the belt in time and, it becomes uncomfortable to swallow, but not really hard to breathe. He doesn't think she did it deliberately. She indicates a block and tackle hanging from the rafters and instructs him to hook the chain onto the bonds on Alexei's wrists and to raise them behind his back.

"But not too high," she says. "I don't want to hurt him, just immobilise him."

As he works, Lucas notices the drain on the floor beneath Alexei's feet and the brownish-red stains around it.

"This place is an abattoir!" he gasps, gaping at the girl as his mind conjures the most horrifying images. He still can't believe he is wrong about her, but the moment certainly demands that he consider the possibility.

The girl just frowns. "Abattoir?" She goes still for a moment, clearly thinking. "Oh! You mean a slaughterhouse, not a common word around here. Not exactly. Hunting is a very popular pastime in this area. We process deer and rabbits, turkey, pheasant, grouse, and even the occasional bear in here," she says, "but they're killed and field dressed out in the woods. We just get the carcasses for butchering."

Indicating a door in the back corner, she says, "That leads to a small packinghouse where we cut the bigger animals up into steaks and roasts and make sausage, bologna, and venniburger." Then she grins. "What? Did you think I was some kind of serial killer?"

"Can you blame me?" Lucas asks, and she shrugs. "Who is 'we'?"

"That's more than you need to know right now," she says going from congenial to businesslike. "Step away from him and put your hands on your head."

Facing the 9mm still in her hand, Lucas has little choice but to obey.

She checks how he has bound Alexei's hands, touches his wrists and shoulders, and asks as kindly as she can, "Ok?"

Lucas can't see Alexei's face but imagines he is a bit bewildered to be addressed directly after all this time. He sees the back of the other man's head move as he nods and can only assume that he understood the girl was checking to see that he was not in pain.

"Tell him we're leaving him here for now, but if he needs anything, all he has to do is yell," she says. "Let him know I'll be back in a few minutes, once I've contained you and we've talked."

Once Lucas has translated, she grabs a pile of burlap feed sacks from the bench and a coil of rope from a hook on the wall and directs him to precede her out of the shop and up the hill to the corncrib. He notices that she keeps out of his reach, but close enough to take him down if he should try to escape. At the empty corncrib, she has him open the door and walk to the far end before she enters.

With every command, Lucas knows he is getting closer to the moment when he has to choose whether to submit and place himself completely at her mercy or resist and risk injury and possibly death for the chance to escape. So far, each time the opportunity for escape has presented itself, he has decided she had him at sufficient disadvantage to make resisting much too dangerous. To this point, her every action has coincided with her expressed desire not to harm him or Alexei. He can't imagine any way that these circumstances could be part of an elaborate ruse to capture him and Alexei for enemy powers. Even when he was in Russia and his captors had complete control of his environment and even his person, they'd never gone to such lengths to break him. There is no way in hell anyone would plan such a complex scheme and let it hinge on the mere chance that he would meet her at the hotdog concession, enjoy her conversation, and trust her enough to accept a lift from her when he was in trouble. He decides to trust her now. He _has_ to trust her now.

"Strip," she commands.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Beg all you want, you won't get it," she says. "You heard me. You can keep your underpants on, but everything else comes off. Now. And toss it all this way."

"What if I refuse?" It is a feeble challenge, but every moment that this encounter drags on is another moment in which she might make a mistake. Every exchange is another opportunity for her to let slip something that might help him identify who she is and for whom she is working. And, until she binds his hands, he still has the option to fight.

She pulls his switchblade out of her pocket, flicks out the blade, tosses it end over end in the air, catches it by the handle, twirls it expertly between her fingers, and ends with holding it by the sharp end with her wrist cocked for throwing.

"Do you really think I can't make you?" she demands.

"I think, once you throw the knife at me, I have it," he says. "After that, unless you shoot me, you lack the physical strength to make me do anything."

It is a dangerous game he is playing, but it is also a test of both her resolve and his nerve. She has promised that she will have no problem hurting him if he gives her reason, and he is deliberately doing just that, albeit in only a small way. The nature of her reaction will tell him a great deal about the kind of person she is.

There is a sudden blur of motion, and before Lucas can discern what she is doing, he is cursing in pain as the knife slices across the tip of his right ear and lodges solidly behind him in one of the narrow boards framing the corncrib.

"Guess I'll have to shoot you next," she says indolently.

Lucas looks at his palm where he has pressed it against the cut on his ear. There's only a tiny streak of blood. Her response is immediate, decisive, proportional to his challenge, and it speaks volumes about her. She has quite intentionally left herself with only one option should he resist, and she has provided him the means and opportunity to do so.

She's a brilliant chess player, this one. She has checkmate in one move, and Lucas is only just realizing the game is on. She rightly sees him as the biggest threat against her and is doing everything she can to neutralize him without harming him, which should have given him great leeway in dealing with her.

But it hasn't.

His options are limited, and one way or another he loses no matter what. He can grab the knife, attack her, and get shot. He can ignore the knife, charge her, and get shot. He can stand there and continue being uncooperative until one of them drops from exhaustion, but after all his adrenaline-fuelled activity earlier in the evening, he rather thinks he will be the first to succumb. He can try to reason with her….

Very slowly, he places his hands on his head. "I am perfectly happy to stand here just like this and talk until you are satisfied that you know everything you need to know to decide what to do with us."

"Strip," the woman commands again.

She has made it perfectly clear that she won't parlay until she is satisfied he is safely contained, but he presses on.

"My friend is a good man," Lucas says. "He's in trouble and I am trying to help him. Those men are probably not the only ones after him. Let us go and you'll never see us again."

Something pulls hard at his left arm. He hears an explosion, smells cordite, looks down to see a hole in his jacket, just an inch or so from his armpit, and finally feels the sting where the bullet has grazed the skin.

He can try to bloody reason with her…and get shot. Fucking wonderful.

"Strip," the girl orders once more.

Swallowing hard in a dry throat, Lucas finally concedes.

THE BULLET HASN'T QUITE BROKEN THE SKIN. There's just a pink streak on the white flesh of his underarm. It might bruise faintly, but it isn't even going to scab over. Given the skill she has shown with the knife, Lucas has to wonder if it isn't more likely that the girl hit just where she was aiming rather than trying to hit him and missing by a hair or trying to miss him and getting a hair's breadth too close.

She tosses him all of the feed sacks save one, and following her instructions, he arranges them as a cushion on the concrete floor of the corncrib and then kneels on them, his ankles and wrists crossed behind him and his forehead pressed to the cement. Finally, she closes in and binds his limbs with the plastic zip ties that he knows she's been carrying since she restrained Alexei just after they got out of the car. She passes the end of the rope between the two sets of ties, helps him to kneel up, and pulls the rope just snug enough that he can't easily move. It's not comfortable, but it's not painful either, and he realizes again that she is very conscientiously being cautious without being cruel. She tosses the other end of the rope over a rafter, pulls it to the side of the corn crib, tightens it enough to restrict Lucas's movement without hurting him, and ties it off on one of the boards framing the wire structure.

She walks out without a word leaving him alone in the dark, but he can see the torchlight bobbing as she crosses the driveway. It vanishes briefly as she steps into a small building, and then it appears in the window. A moment later, she returns to him with a large plastic bucket, which she uses as a seat.

"So, let's start with a simple question," she says. "What do I call you?"

Lucas holds his tongue. It's as much to do with his curiosity to see how she handles an uncooperative subject as it is his training to resist interrogation. Different agencies teach and approve different techniques, and if he can work out her method, he will know something about her background that might give him a small advantage.

She waits at least a minute for a response. Lucas admires her patience. Finally, she opens his backpack and pulls out his stack of IDs.

"Are you Peter Jones?" she asks. "Dear God, I hope not! That's such a boring name. Sounds like an accountant, and I already know you're far more interesting than that!"

She waits another minute or two, and getting no response, tosses the passport at him. It smacks him in the chest and drops to the concrete before him.

"Robert Wheeler sounds much more interesting, for some reason," the girl says. "Probably has something to do with the phrase 'wheeling and dealing'. Makes it sound like you're successful in business."

Again, she waits for a response that is not forthcoming.

As he kneels stoically before her, Lucas can feel the perspiration gathering on his forehead and upper lip and remembers for the first time since he stepped out of the car how bloody hot it is. A cricket chirps off to his right, and something is rustling about in the corner of the corncrib. A bead of sweat runs down the side of his face, down his neck, over his collarbone and down his chest. Another gathers at the nape of his neck and trickles down his back making him shiver despite the heat. There's a distant rumble of thunder, hinting at rain, but it's hardly a promise.

The girl sighs in mock frustration and tosses the second passport at him. This one smacks him in the face. Lucas doesn't let it bother him. It will take more than a little humiliation to get him to speak.

"So, maybe you really are Lucas North," the girl says, almost to herself as she pulls out his wallet. "Oh, now that does make an interesting contradiction in terms! Depending on its derivation, I would bet _Lucas_ has something to do with light; and in the Bible and many European traditions, the _North_ is associated with cold and dark and death and even the Devil. Then again, in navigational terms, finding True North is the key to knowing where you are going and sailors have depended on the North Star to guide them home for millennia. So, are you light come out of the darkness? You're certainly pale enough for that. Do you live in a cave? Practically glow in the dark, you do. Or are you the light that leads the way? But then, where would you, an Englishman, or so you've told me, be leading your poor Russian friend in America?"

It requires real effort not to roll his eyes. If the woman actually knew him, he might be mildly interested in her assessment of the symbolic weight of his name, but as it stands, he knows she is just blathering in an attempt to make some connection, _any _connection, with him. It's a lot of work for her, and very easily countered by him. As long as he simply refuses to respond, she gets nothing.

She chuckles softly. "You're probably just wishing I would stop drivelling and get on with it, aren't you?"

He sits quietly for a moment, and realizes she is not waiting as long between questions as she had been. Is she growing impatient or has she already realized that her silence won't compel him to speak?

"The strong but silent type," she comments. "I actually like that in a man. Preserves the mystery and makes getting to the truth all that much more interesting. So, let's see if I can find enough pieces on my own to put this puzzle together, shall we?"

She leans against the wire wall behind her, crosses her arms over her chest and her legs at the ankles, rolls her eyes toward the rafters, and says, "Fact: Your friend over there in the workshop is Alexei Pomelnikov, coach of the Little League International Champions and World Series Runners-Up, Detskiy Park Little League team. It shouldn't surprise you that I know that. After all, we did talk about my interest in the games. Fact: You have a passport and papers for him in the name of Boris Golovchenko. Assumption: He's running from something and you are helping him. How am I doing so far?"

Lucas gives her a deliberately bland look. It's hardly an intuitive leap. Anyone with half a brain could have deduced that much, especially knowing they were being shot at when she offered them a lift.

"Hmmm. You're not impressed. Can't say that I blame you. Let's take it a little further." She pushes herself up off the bucket and approaches him. Gently gripping his lower jaw, she says, "Open up please."

Lucas deliberately clenches his teeth. He's curious to know what she's up to, but not concerned that she intends to do him harm. It's not as if she's holding a pair of pliers or something. He's just being intentionally difficult because, as her captive, that is his job.

She sighs and rolls her eyes.

"I just want to have a quick look," she says.

Lucas continues to stare at her.

"Please don't make me force you," she says, almost pleading. "I don't _want_ to hurt you, but you know I _can_."

Lucas considers the threat. He believes her when she says she doesn't want to hurt him, but so far, she has done everything necessary to achieve what she wants. As he is mulling over the possibilities, he feels her foot press firmly against his genitals. It's not quite painful, but uncomfortable enough to make him try to pull away. Her grip on his jaw tightens enough to keep him in place, and the message is clear. She's perfectly all right with doing something she doesn't like if he forces her hand.

Lucas opens his mouth.

"Thank you." She shines the torch over his teeth, and steps away. "That wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

He wants to ask her what possible useful information she could glean from inspecting his teeth as if he was a horse up for auction, but he doesn't want to seem too concerned by what she's doing. She also seems to enjoy showing off for him, so if he's just patient, he suspects she will tell him eventually, and she might let something more slip as well.

"You seem to speak fluent Russian," she says, this time counting the facts off on her fingers rather than stating them as if she is constructing a logical proof. "So you _lied_ to me when I asked about your tattoo."

When she glares at him, Lucas shrugs slightly. She's already established that there's more to him than meets the eye. The fact that he's not been entirely truthful should no longer be a surprise.

"You have good teeth," she continues, "which indicates you probably aren't actually Russian. Under the Soviet Regime, when you and I were growing up, dentistry was limited to filling and extracting rotting teeth, making dentures and bridges, and treating traumatic injuries. There was no concept of preventative care."

She smirks at him as if to say, _See there! _Lucas cocks an eyebrow back. _Yeah? So?_ It's commonly accepted among westerners that everything about life under the Soviets was substandard.

"You have three passports, all with names of English origin, though I suppose Jones is also possibly Welsh; and you have a lovely accent. Assumption? You are English, or at the very least, from somewhere in the UK."

Lucas is impressed that she understands the distinction that most Americans don't even seem to know exists, but he doesn't let her know that.

She moves in closer to him, circles him with the light, traces his tattoos with her finger.

"_Dum spiro spero_," she says. "Latin. While I breathe, I hope. _Gnothi seauton_. Greek. Know thyself."

She brushes her fingertips across his chest, her light touch giving him a welcome chill in the oppressive heat.

"William Blake's _The Ancient of Days_," she comments. "Those are not the 'youthful indiscretions' of some callow boy getting drunk and being stupid. That's a man with an education, a man with a _classical_ education, telling the world who he is."

Lucas feels himself tensing and tries to force himself to relax. The Latin and Greek phrases are widely known. William Blake is a little less familiar, but she said she taught British Literature. There is no reason why she wouldn't be familiar with the symbolism and significance of those tattoos, but he feels as if she is getting dangerously close to the truth of him.

"But then there are the onion domes on your back. They made me think of St. Basil's Cathedral at first, but those domes are beautifully decorated in bright colours and stripes. Yours are plain, more like the churches of the Kremlin."

Again, she grasps subtleties the average person would not. Most people don't even know St. Basil's from the Kremlin. If they do, they don't generally realize that there are several churches within the Kremlin but that they are architecturally different from St. Basil's. Teaching British Literature doesn't explain her having _that_ knowledge.

"That quote on your arm in the Cyrillic alphabet," she muses. "'See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil,' that could easily be a prisoner's creed, a promise to others that you are not a snitch, an admonishment to them not to be."

She leans sideways and smiles at him. He scowls. She's insufferably full of herself and it's bloody irritating. Even more annoying, he can't help but be curious how she knows as much as she does.

"Oh, come _on_!" she pleads playfully. "Don't make me do _all_ the work."

Lucas wonders if she is close enough to head butt. Doesn't she know that nobody likes a know-it-all?

"All right then. I'll finish up," she says, briskly. "Professionally drawn tattoos, even monochromatic ones, are much sharper and clearer than the ones you're wearing. Whoever inked your skin probably used a mixture of piss and burned shoe leather applied with a needle attached to an electric razor, or maybe just stabbed you by hand tens of thousands of times. Eight domes, looking like Kremlin churches probably identified you as a prisoner of the state for eight years. The five dots inside your wrist that I asked about a few days ago indicate you did time in solitary confinement. The sailboat and the broken chain advertise your willingness to participate in _any_ escape plan."

She glances at him, and he must be looking a bit taken aback now, because she explains, "The Russians aren't the only ones who use symbolic tattooing to establish a personal legend in the prison culture. I could deduce that from watching _Lock-Up _on MSNBC.

"Assumption? You did time in a Russian prison."

The way she states things, she makes it sound like anybody should be able to take one look at him and know his history, and really, anyone with her apparent knowledge should. The mystery to him is, how in bloody hell does a teacher of British Literature in an American high school know how to tell a prison tattoo from a professional tattoo?

"So, I have an educated Brit who has done time in a Russian prison and is now on the lam with a Russian national in America," she says. "Care to confirm or deny that?"

Lucas stares straight ahead. Her deductions so far indicate certain specialized knowledge, but whether she knows anything about his actual circumstances is another matter entirely.

"An educated man wouldn't risk AIDS, hepatitis, and other blood-borne pathogens on a whim, so the tattoos were necessary to fit in and keep you alive," she says.

She is no longer making the effort to distinguish assumptions from fact, Lucas notices. It indicates a certain degree of confidence in her reasoning that, as far as Lucas can tell, is well placed.

"You probably knew going in that you would be in prison for a while, so you were either a duly convicted criminal, or a spy."

She glances at Lucas and gets no reaction.

"The tattoos probably aren't relevant, except to confirm your prison term, unless they imply some kind of special status within a criminal organization," she reasons. "And that's not something I can work out on my own."

She smiles at Lucas. "Wouldn't want to give me a hint, would you?"

He ignores her.

"Didn't think so." She taps her fist against her lips thoughtfully. "What's an Englishman doing running from…Is it the Russian mob?... _with_ a Russian _in_ America?"

All her deductions are getting her nowhere, and she knows it. She stares at Lucas for a long moment, and then stalks away from him. Stopping beside his backpack, she picks it up and murmurs, "Military issue."

She grins at Lucas.

"It's always easier to assemble a puzzle after you find all four corners," she says. "I suspect I'm still missing a corner or two."

She pulls out the laptop, sets it on the floor of the corn crib, and ignores it, which annoys Lucas because he'd been hoping she would waste time trying to hack into it and search for data that would do her no good. He still has no idea how that might work to his advantage, but it would buy him time to work something out.

She takes out the new clothes, the food, the drinks, and the weapons, and stacks them all neatly on top of the computer. Then she sets aside the backpack and pulls a bottle of water out of the six-pack.

"It's warm, but it's still wet. Are you thirsty?"

Lucas doesn't answer. She still takes off the cap and brings it over to him.

"You are one stoic son of a bitch, you know that?" she comments admiringly. "Now come on, I'm not messing with you. Open up and have a drink."

Lucas sighs and opens his mouth. He isn't just being difficult. He really is thirsty but he has good reason to be nervous about someone spraying water in his face. He wants her to know that he's only cooperating to humour her. She squirts the water in carefully and slowly enough for him to swallow it properly.

"Thank you," he says when he's had enough.

"You're welcome," she replies and squirts some down her own throat.

She tosses the bottle back on the pile of items she extracted from the backpack and picks up the bag itself. With growing horror, Lucas watches as she ignores all the obvious, fiddly little zips and pouches, snaps and draw strings, and goes straight for the hidden compartment with the Velcro closure concealed underneath the main zipper. She pulls out the flash drive he has hidden there and grins.

"Now this looks promising," she crows. "I pay attention to the background information they give about the players and coaches on ESPN," she says. "Alexei is a data analyst for a gigantic industrial-financial conglomerate. If the cop shows and news media are to be believed, the Russian mob has a finger in every pot. Depending on the sources you follow, they're even supplying weapons to terrorist organizations and arming both sides of several Third World conflicts.

"Alexei has offered you data you need in exchange for help escaping the Russian mob," she assumes. "I wonder what he knows that you would like to learn."

She glances speculatively at the laptop. Lucas feels his heart beat a bit faster. There is nothing useful on it and the data on the flash drive is useless without the other information Alexei has promised them. If she goes for it, she might distract herself from her current line of reasoning, lead herself astray, and that could work to his advantage.

His hopes crash and burn as she shakes her head and says, "I _suck _at hacking."

She goes very still, except for her right hand, which constantly fondles the flash drive like a worry-stone. Lucas can tell by the expressions flitting across her face that she is thinking hard, sorting the facts she knows and the assumptions she hopes are correct. He can tell each time she runs into a dead end by the way her brow puckers and her eyes narrow for a fraction of a second.

"I'm still missing something," she mutters. "Why is a Brit operating in the US instead of our own people handling the matter themselves?"

She looks at Lucas and asks, "And why didn't you have backup?"

Lucas knows she isn't even expecting him to answer, so he waits silently while she mutters to herself. In the quiet, he hears the sounds of the night all around him. Crickets chirping, leaves rustling, frogs croaking, thunder rumbling, some kind of dogs howling in the distance. Did he read that there were coyotes in this part of the country? Something large moves through the brush further up the hill, not too close, but close enough to make him wonder if it is shy of people. Something else in the distance gives a blood-curdling shriek that makes him jump and gasp. She glances at him and smiles.

"Probably a feral cat or a fox taking a rabbit," she says. "Want to know what I think?"

Lucas doesn't have to try hard to look inquisitive. He really is wondering what she has deduced.

"Alexei is trying to get away from the Russian mob. Maybe he owes them money; maybe he just wants a better life. Doesn't matter why.

"You are either a spy or a criminal and you are either helping him, or pretending to help him. I want you to be one of the good guys, so I _really_ hope you really are helping him.

"Alexei is _definitely _one of the good guys. He's a Little League coach and it's essential to their character, so he isn't running off and abandoning his wife and kid to their fates. That means, whatever the plan is, it includes rescuing them, too.

"Of course, you're not doing it out of the goodness of your heart. Either this flash drive contains data you need, or someone is paying you – or forgiving you some debt or mistake – to dupe him and prevent him from getting the data to the people who want it.

"Alexei's got mad skills when it comes to strategy. That's how his team won the International Championship. I'll bet this drive only has part of the data in question and his son Max and his wife Elena have the rest, so, one way or another, you have to rescue all three of them together.

"If you're British Intelligence, you're working with the permission of the CIA, the NSA, Homeland Security, someone like that, or all of the above, and they're probably handling matters where Max and Elena are concerned.

"Then again, your plan went to shit, and you had no backup, which means you could be operating in the US on the down-low, or you have permission but the powers-that-be want to maintain deniability, or you have mole somewhere in the system, or some combination of all of the above.

"The only other explanation I can come up with is that you're _not_ one of the good guys, you're kidnapping Alexei for unknown enemy powers, and I should be calling the cops right now.

"And if I can't make up my mind, the smartest thing for me to do would be to call the police anyway and let them sort it out."

She leans sideways again to get her face at his eye level, and grins amicably.

"Care to give me a nudge in the right direction?"

She gives Lucas all the time he needs to think it over. He doesn't have to think very long.

The Home Secretary himself had come down to the Grid to impress upon Lucas how important it was to keep this mission a secret from the general public. Whatever deal the CIA is trying to make with the Russians, aiding and abetting Alexei Pomelnikov's escape from his shady employers' clutches will ruin it. They absolutely will not tolerate having their negotiations disrupted by the news media getting hold of the story, but they are willing to allow Lucas to operate within the U.S. with certain safeguards in place. So, before Lucas was permitted to leave the UK for Williamsport, the Home Secretary had recorded and delivered to CIA Headquarters in London a public statement condemning the rogue British officer and his unsanctioned activities on an ally's sovereign soil. If his mission becomes public, the video is released, Lucas is extradited to face charges of espionage in an American court, and Alexei is deported back to Russia.

If he had thought for one minute that things could go so badly awry on a simple grab-and-go mission, Lucas never would have accepted it. At the time, just the little he had been told about the information they had been promised was more than enough to take what he then perceived as a relatively small risk. After all, only four people knew all the details of the mission and the Home Secretary's statement was specific enough that the CIA couldn't use it under any other circumstances. With the benefit of hindsight, he'd been a fool, and Harry a bloody idiot to encourage him.

Right now, he still has a chance to complete his mission in secrecy. He has to take it.

Much as he will regret it, when all is said and done, it will be easier to silence one woman than an entire police station. If he can secure her assistance in the meantime, so much the better.

"My name," he says, "is Lucas North."

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	6. The Jig Is Up

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Five: The Jig Is Up_

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lucas North," she smirks at him cheerfully. "I'm Josie Slater. Now, can you please tell me what the hell I have gotten myself into?"

"You know, you don't have to be so bloody smug," he grumbles.

"And you didn't have to be so freaking stubborn," she replies. "Now, start talking."

"First, can I just ask…"

"No."

He sighs. He really wants to know how she has come by so much esoteric knowledge, but her flat refusal indicates that she is not willing to engage in any _quid pro quo_ yet. He can't have her turning him over to the local cops, and she's worked out enough of his story on her own that he thinks she'll know if anything he says doesn't ring true. He decides to tell her almost everything.

"You're right about nearly all of it," he says. "I work for MI-5, not the Russian mafia. Alexei knew what his employers were doing before he became a father, but he didn't really care one way or another until Max was born. Apparently, fatherhood changed his outlook on a lot of things and he didn't want his son to grow up in a world dominated by violence, corruption, and graft."

"Does he really think he can avoid that on this earth?" Josie asks. Then she gets a mischievous look. "Or did you tell him the UK space programme was secretly preparing to colonize the moon?"

"What we're working on is none of your business," Lucas replies dryly, "but the code name for the operation is _Richard Branson._"

He doesn't know why he makes the joke about the business magnate trying to turn space into a tourist attraction, but he's relieved to get a chuckle out of her. Kneeling, bound, and naked except for his boxers, he can't forget that he is her captive, but if she's willing to tolerate a little banter, then she must be willing to listen.

"Anyway, the seedier side of what goes on in the world is not as obvious in the West," he says, "and that is why Alexei wants to get his family out."

"In other words, people still defect from Russia."

"Yeah."

"And in exchange for new names, a new home, and an income, what do you get?"

"I haven't been given the details," he says. "But you can safely assume that it will shut down a broad range of criminal activities across the globe."

"At least until they start up again in new locations under the names of new dummy corporations, eh?"

Lucas shrugs as if to say, _What can you do?_

"So, terrorism, arms dealing, drugs, human trafficking, is that the general gist of it?"

"Bit of this, bit of that," Lucas nods. "Alexei worked on a number of projects over the years. He's been collecting data since Max was born."

"So, what was the plan?"

"Strictly grab-and-go. I wasn't supposed to need backup," he explains. "I was meant to be Alexei's only point of contact, and my only access to him was through e-mail and texting. There were only four people fully read into the operation: my boss, me, our CIA contact, and one American FBI agent. A couple of my other colleagues provided some resources without knowing the big picture, and I would assume your Federal Agent told her boss enough to get his permission to participate. That's as wide as the circle was meant to go.

"As soon as Alexei turns up missing, your agent will secure Elena and Max," he continues. "They don't know about the plan yet. They will be left thinking he is missing or dead until they decide to return home. Then, they will be diverted from the airport and reunited with Alexei in the UK."

"That's a bit cruel, isn't it?"

"It was Alexei's request," Lucas says. "They've talked about leaving Russia before, but Elena is too fearful. He thought it would be wise to save her from having to keep such a big secret for so long."

"All right, and now, the piece of the puzzle I'm still missing," she says. "Why are we letting MI-5 run this operation on US soil instead of handling it ourselves?"

"Two reasons," Lucas says. "First, Alexei wants to settle in the UK. Elena was educated there and he thinks it will make the transition easier if they go somewhere that isn't completely alien to her. Since he wants to come to us and we're willing to have him, your people thought we should take responsibility for the extraction."

"I see," Josie nods. "Sounds reasonable. You said 'first.' What's second?"

"Second, your agent cited some 'delicate business dealings' with Russia that her superiors didn't want 'upset by an international incident of this nature,'" Lucas tells her. "If anything goes wrong, it's all on me. Your people have complete deniability if it goes bad, and if it works, we copy them on all the data in exchange for looking the other way and letting it happen."

"And, if it all goes South, depending on whether Alexei survives and has the opportunity and the courage to speak on your behalf, you could do twenty to life in a federal penitentiary for kidnapping, be imprisoned or executed for espionage, become a bargaining chip in some negotiations with the UK, or become a pawn in a prisoner exchange with Russia," she says.

Lucas shifts uneasily on his knees. He generally tries not to think of the consequences of failure, and she has just hit on all of his greatest fears in one breath.

"Bastards," she hisses. "Getting in bed with the Russian mob is one thing. Hanging you out to dry because they lack the balls to stand up to them is just unconscionable."

"I'll be sure to copy them on your memo," Lucas quips. "Now, if you could just let Alexei and me go…"

"What's the cover story for his disappearance?"

Lucas sighs again. He's told her all she really needs to know. If she was satisfied with what he has explained so far, she would be cutting him free right now. He debates giving her that final detail, and she allows him the time to make up his mind. Technically, it is still classified as top secret, but so is most of what she has guessed on her own. He has told her parts of the plan that are more sensitive than the cover story, and she will recognize the cover the moment it hits the papers. Ultimately, he persuades himself to come clean by deciding that it is one more opportunity to convince her that he is for real and to get her to send him and Alexei on their way.

"The FBI agent assigned to Elena and Max will put on a show for the press," he finally says.

"What makes you think the Feds will be invited in?" she interrupts him. "The FBI doesn't have the authority to take over a local investigation until it's proven that the criminal has crossed state lines or committed some other Federal crime. They have to wait for a request to assist."

"Because of the international attention focused on the Little League World Series, the FBI always pays special attention to what goes on in Williamsport at this time of year, or so I'm told," Lucas explains. "We expect the locals to readily accept their offer of help because of the possibility that Alexei's disappearance might have something to do with terrorism or espionage. Only the one agent involved in our operation is aware of the full plan. The rest of the task force will believe they are working a typical missing person case."

"And the 'show for the press'? What will the ultimate story be?"

Lucas shrugs. He sees no reason not to tell her now.

"That Alexei went out for a last bit of sightseeing, got into some kind of trouble, and got himself shot and tossed into the river."

"Ohhhh," Josie says in a tone that makes the hair on the back of Lucas's neck stand up. "Now, _that's_ not going to happen."

Her voice carries a tone that will brook no argument, but Lucas tries anyway.

"What do you mean? There's already a John Doe corpse waiting on ice," he tells her. "If you let us go now, we can still make our extraction rendezvous with time to spare. I have a car parked and waiting for us in town. It can't be more than six or seven miles' walk by surface streets. Point us in the right direction and we'll be out of your hair and safely hidden away before dawn."

"I don't care about your plans or your rendezvous or, least of all, a corpse on ice," Josie says. "I'm not going to allow you to smear my hometown with a story of violence and murder in the middle of something as pure and innocent as children playing baseball."

"But it's all been arranged," Lucas protests.

"Well, then, we'll find a way to rearrange it," she tells him with certainty. "When I was a kid, Williamsport had a violent, dangerous image in the local media, so bad that people from cities like Philadelphia and Pittsburgh were afraid to come here. It's not all roses, butterflies, and unicorns farting rainbows now, but it's not as bad as it used to be, and it was never as bad as they played it in the media. If you and your pals saddle us with some BS story about a murdered Little League coach…"

She trails off in frustration, unable to adequately express herself. It strikes Lucas as a bit odd. She wasn't this angry about the men in the SUV shooting at them. Such a degree of hometown loyalty is unusual.

"I believe you are trying to do the right thing by Alexei," she finally says, "but this place is my home, and I will not let you tell such lies about it."

Lucas can tell by the note of finality in her voice that there will be no convincing her.

"Well, then, what do you plan to do instead?"

HE ISN'T AS SURPRISED AS HE SHOULD BE THAT SHE ALREADY HAS A PLAN IN MIND. Or maybe he's more surprised than he should be considering how she has managed the situation since the moment she realized she was being shot at back on Third Street. Harry's likely to burst a blood vessel when he discovers that Lucas has brought some random American civilian in on the mission, but Harry isn't stripped to his boxers, hog-tied, and on his knees on the concrete floor of some grain-storage cage in the middle of the night, either. Sometimes decisions must be made in the field that could never be anticipated on the Grid.

"_Hello, Uncle Harry, it's Josie_," she reads back from the message he has dictated. "What does that mean?"

"Family relationships are part of our code," he explains. "Calling him Uncle makes you my cousin. It means I have accepted you as trustworthy and am willing to work with you, but that he still needs to hear from me to be sure your plans have my support."

"Well, what if I decide to call him Dad?"

Lucas smirked. "You could do," he agrees. "Or you could call him Daddy, Papa, Pa, Pops, Father, or Tad; but if you pick the wrong one, he will know you're a fraud and things could go very badly for all of us."

She draws her face into a blank and says, "Noted."

"_Lucas says his date ran into some old friends and then they had some car trouble_," she continues reading. "_They're going to be a bit late to your party, but I'll make sure they get there eventually. _It's obvious to me you're telling him about the people who were chasing us. Alexei is your date, and the car trouble is the vehicle you can't get to in the parking garage downtown."

"That's right," Lucas confirms.

"_Late to the party_, you're going to miss your pre-arranged rendezvous," she assumes. "_I'll make sure they get there_, is perfectly literal."

"Yeah."

"_Just between you and me, you should to talk to Auntie and tell her she needs to get her story straight before she starts talking marriage to anyone._ Tell your American contact not to release the murdered tourist story, but what's all this nonsense about marriage?"

"Just filler," he says.

"So it's not saying you aren't committed to going along with me and think he should move to take me out?" she asks sceptically.

"You want to reword it, be my guest," Lucas deadpans.

Josie takes him seriously, and gives it a moment's thought. "How about, _Just between you and me, you should talk to Auntie and tell her she needs to get her story straight. Lucas did __**not**__ meet this girl at a charity ball, and the first time she giggles, everyone will know she's a stripper."_

Lucas is ever so slightly mortified. Even though it's a coded message, the choice of such wording is a reflection on his character, and he's not entirely comfortable with its implications. But it is _just_ a coded message, and if it eases Josie's concerns that he might be requesting assistance to remove her interference, he can live with a little unflattering language. Neither Beth's asset who provided his weapons nor Dimitri's transportation asset is actual backup. They're just suppliers of goods and services. Except for that limited support from home, he is entirely on his own, and now that things have gone to hell, he rather appreciates the offer of help from someone with a little local knowledge, even if she still does have him restrained as a prisoner.

"Works for me," he finally agrees.

"Wonderful," she gives him that infuriatingly smug smile again. "_We'll call you in about half an hour to let you know what's up. By then we should know what time we'll be arriving. See you when we see you._ I'll need more than half an hour to get everything in place and work out a plan."

"You have twelve hours," Lucas says. "It's code."

"Oh, very good then," she says. "And I suppose the last line means the timetable is undetermined, but you do plan to follow through on your mission rather than abort, yes?"

"Right," Lucas lies. "Now, there's one more thing. You need to give him something about yourself that he can look into, some way to run a check on you as a gesture of good faith."

"Some way to find me so he can send a team in to stop me from interfering with your plans, you mean?" she accuses.

"I don't have that kind of back up," Lucas reminds her, gritting his teeth as he does because he's growing more irritated with the situation every time it is pointed out to him. "If I did, do you think I would have needed to catch a lift with you?"

"Everybody spies on everybody, even allies," she argues. "There very well could be a few pre-placed assets already in the country, ready to be activated when needed. Maybe he'll send them in to rescue you."

"You mean _sleeper agents_?" Lucas asks in disbelief.

She nods.

"Look, we are a small island nation of only fifty or sixty million people," he tells her patiently. "We don't have the resources or personnel to salt a huge country like America with sleepers to activate on the unlikely chance that they will be needed to assist with a mission in Williamsport bloody Pennsylvania! Even if we did, chances are they would be in major metropolitan areas like Washington, New York, Los Angeles, maybe even Chicago and Miami, depending on the amount of political and financial intrigue going on there in any given decade. They'd be too far away to help me. It makes far more sense to go along with you as long as you aren't holding me for ransom, threatening to kill me and broadcast it on the internet to make some political statement, or planning to expose our operation to the media."

"Well, then, why does your boss need to run a background check on me?" she asks.

"Standard operational procedure," Lucas explains, though he can feel his patience wearing thin. "We do not rely on un-vetted locals unless we have a previously established relationship with them. If you don't give my boss something, he will leave me hanging, and that will be very inconvenient for both of us."

"What makes you think I wouldn't want you hanging around?" she teases. "Big strapping man like you, half naked and at my mercy. Could be fun, for both of us."

"I can be an exceptionally disagreeable houseguest when I would rather be elsewhere," he tells her as he curses the blush that rises in his cheeks and resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Please, just give him something. Mention the school where you teach so he can verify you're on the faculty or something like that. If the Friends of the Library has a website and you're named there, mention that. Anything to establish that you're a legitimate local and not some enemy agent who's infiltrated our plans."

"Because, of course, your enemies _do_ have the resources to set someone up _years_ in advance to work the Friends of the Library concession on the _off chance_ that some British agent _might_ have a yen for a hotdog during Little League week and choose to visit her concession stand so that she can charm the pants off him, gain his trust, and ride to the rescue when he's in trouble _just to ruin all his plans_," she snarls.

"If I was an enemy who wanted to take Alexei from you," her tone shifts from nasty to condescending, "you'd be _dead_ by now and _he_ would be in the trunk of my car on the way to some extraction point or secret interrogation facility. In your line of work, it makes sense to be paranoid, but that's just ridiculous."

"Christ, woman!" he shouts, losing his patience and his temper and rolling his eyes all in one go. "Do you think I haven't been telling myself that since the moment you pulled up at the kerb and offered us a lift? I can't very well put all of that in a coded message for my boss now, can I? There are over 140 _million_ Russians, so in a game of numbers, yes, the UK is at a distinct disadvantage. And it's called the bloody boot!"

She gives him a smirk and says calmly, "Not in America."

Lucas is utterly horrified. He has withstood beatings, starvation, electrocution, solitary confinement, waterboarding, and tortures of such a painful and humiliating nature that he has never been able to put a proper name to them, but none of his interrogators has ever broken him as quickly as this one unassuming, persistent, infuriatingly smug American schoolteacher. Now, all he can do is hope his assessment of her was correct and that she will not punish him for losing it so completely. In the silence, there is an ominous rumble of distant thunder.

"I will consider giving your boss some traceable information about me," she says. "But first, I intend to talk with Alexei, dispose of the car so if anyone reported the shooting and high-speed chase I can claim it was stolen, get my other vehicle out of storage in case we need transportation, and acquire us a couple of disposable phones to call your boss."

He can't argue with most of her plan, but, "Alexei doesn't speak English."

She holds up her smart phone, and says, "And I don't speak Russian, but I'll bet there's an app for that. It probably sucks, but I'll stick to yes or no questions, and I am sure he'll get the gist of them."

"And how are you going to keep anyone from seeing you driving a bullet riddled car?" he asks.

"Not much traffic at this hour of the morning," she informs him. "The storage facility is not floodlit, and the only security is the lock you put on your own door. No guardhouse, no keypad, no cameras. Not a very secure facility, but the car is the only thing I keep there and it is fully insured and equipped with LoJack. I'll take the sedan through Montoursville by back streets until I connect with Route 87 and then drive a couple miles up the Loyalsock where I'll abandon it, maybe even send it over the bank into the creek."

"Sounds like a good plan as long as no one spots you," he agrees.

"I'm so glad you approve," she says with mild sarcasm.

"You don't need to bother with the phones," he says. "We can use my laptop for a secure video chat."

"Unless that's how you were compromised," she suggests. "I'd rather have a one-use phone that we know is clean."

He can't argue with her reasoning, so he doesn't.

"In the meantime, what are you going to do with Alexei and me?" he asks, bracing himself for the worst.

She pockets her phone, picks up the one feed sack she didn't give him to cushion his knees, and rises from the bucket where she's been sitting all this time.

"I'm afraid I'll have to leave you here on your own," she says. "Alexei is coming with me."

Lucas has to suppress his shudders as she moves close, loosens the belt that is still fastened around his neck, puts the feed sack over his head, and closes it snugly round his throat with the belt.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	7. Marking Time

_**Busman's Holiday  
**Marking Time_

THE FEED SACK IS JUST THE SLIGHTEST BIT MUSTY, but it also smells of sweet summer hay and reminds Lucas of his childhood in rural Cumbria. If he weren't in such a compromised position, the familiar scent might even have made him smile despite the stifling heat under the makeshift hood. As it is, all he can do is strain his ears for the sounds of Josie's movement about the place.

The crunch of her footsteps on the gravel driveway quickly fades, but soon afterwards, he hears voices coming from the abattoir. He can't make out the words, but at first Alexei's light tenor is high and tense with anxiety. Josie keeps her tone low and gentle. Lucas can't hear anything from her phone, but he assumes the application she has found does a good job translating because as the conversation goes on, Alexei's speech gets slower and calmer.

Lucas can only guess how long they talk, but he supposes it's about twenty minutes before they both go silent again. For long moments, he is all alone in the dark with only the crickets for company. Hard as he tries to concentrate on the activity around him, the feel of sweat beading up on his body and running down his skin keeps distracting him. Having a moment of peace also lets him realize how very tired he is, and the oppressive heat makes him sleepy. His head feels heavy, but when he lets it drop, it strains his neck. He wishes she had positioned him so he could stretch out or lean against something, but he understands why she didn't. The more mobility she allows him, the greater chance that he can work himself free in her absence.

Soon, he hears the saloon car's big engine purr to life. Gravel crackles and pops under its tyres as it pulls up to the abattoir. He hears a door open and close, and then another door open. The engine runs so quietly, he can hear Alexei's anxious voice and Josie's soothing one just as well as before, and as they grow louder, he realises she is bringing Alexei outside. He hears her feet crunching on the gravel again, and she comes back into the corn crib.

"Alexei will be riding with me," she says, and he thinks he hears her rummaging through his things as she speaks. "He is bound hand and foot, but if we go anywhere populated, he is going to have to ride in the trunk. I can't chance anyone recognising him. I have put some ice packs in there to help him stay cool, just in case, and I'm taking your bottled water so he can stay hydrated. I am taking your backpack, too. If you are gone when I return, I will turn him and it over to the local police and tell them everything that has happened tonight. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lucas answers.

There is a long silence, which starts to make him nervous. He should have heard her walking away by now, but he hasn't. When she doesn't move after a hundred count, he finally speaks up.

"Something wrong?"

"My storage unit is just at the bridge into Montoursville, only a mile or so away, but I'll have to leave the sedan farther away and walk back," she says. "I could be gone an hour or more. You're likely to get very uncomfortable kneeling there like that."

Now Lucas notices that his knees are aching, his thighs are sore, and the growing tension between his shoulders is getting painful. He rather thinks that leaving him in a stress position such as this for an hour or two would be a violation of the Geneva Convention's proscriptions against torture, but since he is here on a botched clandestine operation not governed by the rules of war, he elects to keep his thoughts to himself.

"You could just untie me," he suggests wryly.

"Sorry, no, not yet," she replies, but then he feels her move closer.

Some of the stress on his limbs is released as she unties the rope binding his ankles and wrists together. She helps him stand and balance as she guides him to take baby steps backwards until he bumps into the wall. She leaves him standing there for a moment, and then guides him a step away from the wall so that she can fiddle about on the floor behind him.

She settles him with his legs stretched out before him, and he realizes that she has moved the grain sacks that he had been kneeling on into a cushion for his bum. Then she has him lean forward. He feels her checking the bonds around his wrists, and she must be satisfied, because she leaves them as they are. Then he hears a ripping noise and realizes she must have saved out another one of the sacks. She wraps strips of the fabric over and around the plastic ties binding him and he knows there will be no scrubbing his wrists against anything to wear through his bonds.

She instructs him to sit up and again he feels the tension on his arms return, though not so severely as before. He hears a rope being pulled tight and as he leans back, he feels the wire walls of the corncrib pressing into both of his arms. She has tied him into the corner.

Next, she loosens the belt around his neck, and rolls the hood up enough to expose his nose and mouth. He hears a quiet click and feels something pressed to his lips.

"Water," she says.

"I'm not thirsty," he lies. The truth is, he has a very full bladder and doesn't think she would be willing to let him go off to relieve himself just now.

"You're soaked in sweat," she says. "I don't want you getting dehydrated."

"Still not thirsty," he says.

There is a brief silence and then he hears, "Ah."

Her footsteps carry her a short distance away and then bring her back to him. She rests something on his lap, and the next thing he knows, she is reaching into his fly and drawing him out. As determined as he is to be stoic, he can't help tensing and trying to shift his hips away from her touch. This has _got _tobe against the Geneva Convention.

"Sorry, should have warned you," she apologizes. "This is purely practical, so can you just relax?"

"Easier said than done!" he grunts through clenched teeth. "For the love of Christ, woman! How can you have cold hands on a night this hot?"

"Sorry," she says again and manages to sound sincere despite the chuckle in her voice. "Cold hands, warm heart?"

He gasps, and thinks it might have been a laugh if he'd had enough air in his lungs. "You know, this goes beyond forward, even for an American."

"I grew up in a house with four brothers and no sisters," she tells him. "I was the only girl out of thirteen grandchildren on my mother's side, and the only girl I knew until I started school. I was playing You-Show-Me-Yours-And-I'll-Show-You-Mine before I knew what Yours and Mine were."

Lucas can only groan. He believes she is only trying to help, but she's really just adding to his discomfort. His member, already half-hard with the need to void, is now responding to her touch and where his hips were trying to draw away before, it now takes a certain amount of concentration not to thrust into her hand.

"Come on," she says gently. "Just take a few deep breaths and try to let it go. You've nothing to be embarrassed about. Trust me. I've seen enough to know."

The slight note of humour in her voice forces another choked laugh from him.

"That's not usually a bragging point for a lady," he says.

"Good thing I'm not a lady, then," she replies. "Honestly, though, I'm not a loose woman, but I am over forty, and I never took a vow of chastity. Also, it's not just curious little boys who peep through keyholes at a certain age."

"That's not usually a bragging point, either," he grinds out.

"Anyone who pretends they've never looked and thinks other people actually believe them is only fooling themselves," she says. "I'm sure you've…"

"_The conversation is __**not**__ helping!_" he growls, fighting for control of one part of himself while seeking relief for another. "Can you just _shut up_ and let me try to imagine that I am _alone_?"

She goes completely still. It seems like forever until Lucas's mind is able to latch on to coherent thoughts of waterfalls and babbling brooks, dripping sinks and filling bathtubs. Finally, the image of the men's room on the Grid flashes into his brain and he is able to relax enough to let go of what he wants to release. There is a moment when it looks like he is finished, but he knows he isn't, and he is too embarrassed to tell her. To his immense surprise, she just waits. After a few seconds, he is able to release the last little bit. She shakes him off, tucks him back in, and he hears her walk away and dump what he only now realizes is the bucket she had been sitting on. Then her footfalls crunch away from him across the gravel back in the direction of the little building where she got the bucket, and he hears running water and assumes she is rinsing it. Finally, she returns to him.

"Are you all right now?"

"Yeah."

"Will you drink some water?" she asks gently. "I really am concerned about you getting dehydrated."

"I could do with a drink," he admits. "Did you wash your hands?"

"Of course I did," she says. "I might be 'beyond forward, even for an American', but I'm still civilized."

He huffs a quiet laugh, appreciating her teasing tone. At some point in the last few minutes, the situation went from surreal to absurd and he can't see any reason not to let himself be amused.

He sips the water when she holds it to his lips. Between swallows, he says, "You know, a woman doesn't learn to handle a man's, er, _functions_ like that by peeping through a keyhole."

She goes very still.

"I'm sorry," he says, realizing he has hit a sensitive spot and wishing he could see her face to judge whether she is sad, shaken, or angry. "None of my business."

"It's all right," she says, holding the bottle to his lips again. "The summer I turned seventeen, my granddad took ill. I looked after him in his final days."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was a remarkable man, and it was an honour to be entrusted with his care," she said. "I think it was one of the best, most important, most enriching things I have ever done in my life. I wouldn't change a minute of it unless it meant I could have him back, hale and hearty and as I prefer to remember him."

"Still, I'm sorry you lost him," Lucas says, and he means it. He can hear the love in her voice.

"Thank you," she says. "So am I."

She gives him the last of the water and re-secures the feed-sack hood.

"You should be comfortable enough for an hour or two," she tells him. "I'll be back as quick as I can."

He is by no means comfortable. It's still bloody hot and humid, but he feels better now that he has relieved himself and had a drink, and he's not been left hog-tied and kneeling, so he doesn't argue. The moment he nods, he hears her take off at a dead run, and under the feed-sack hood, he has to smile to think she was completely sincere in her promise to hurry.

AT FIRST, LUCAS TRIES to track the passage of time by following Josie's activities in his imagination. He isn't familiar enough with the local landscape to envision the landmarks she must pass on the way to her storage facility, but the ride to school each morning when he was a boy was almost exactly two miles. He times her drive by remembering that in the greatest detail possible.

When his memory reaches the infants school where he first started his education, he switches to a generic self-storage facility. He doesn't need to conjure up any details about the place since they are all roughly the same. He pictures Josie getting out of the car, opening the storage unit, backing her other car out. For some reason he imagines something red and sporty, maybe a convertible. She helps Alexei move from the saloon car to the convertible.

Then what?

She has to dispose of the damaged car, but she can't take Alexei with her. The simple, practical solution is to put the car back in the storage unit with Alexei in it. Does she trust him to sit quietly and wait for her? Does she gag him or force him into the boot? For some reason he can't explain, Lucas thinks she trusts him, maybe not to stay put without being tied, but at least to stay quiet. Then again, it is the wee, small hours of the night, who's going to hear him if he yells anyway? Lucas is familiar with the bridge she mentioned. He crossed it his first evening in town when he went to buy his shorts. He didn't even see the storage facility from the road, so there probably isn't anything near enough for Alexei to be able to get anyone's attention.

Where would she take the saloon car? She mentioned Route 87 and sending the car into the creek, so he imagines it's a deserted country road no more than two or three miles from her storage space. He's seen signs for it, but never really thought about where the road went because it was in the opposite direction of any of his plans.

If she is taking back streets, she will average about thirty-five miles per hour. It will take her five or six minutes to move the car and then perhaps forty more to get back to the new vehicle, if she jogs the whole way. Since he can't think of a routine drive he makes that would take three quarters of an hour, he decides to mentally complete some other activity that could take about that long. Eventually, he settles on meeting Josie for drinks somewhere, and tries to tell himself it's only because he needs to pass the time.

_They meet around six thirty. He's picked a place with outdoor seating so they can watch the sunset together, and he's timed it close to the dinner hour so they can continue with a meal if they enjoy one another's company._

_He's pleased to see she is punctual. She turns the corner just as he comes to a stop outside the pub, and he doesn't even have to wait a minute for her. It's just enough time for him to look her up and down. With her fair skin and dark hair, she is stunning in the simple dark red shift she is wearing, and if the smile she gives him is any indication, she approves of his choice of black jeans and a dark teal shirt. He holds the door for her, and she thanks him. Since the place is informal, he leads her through the restaurant himself, asking if she wants to sit outdoors, and he is pleased when she says yes._

_The waitress comes over and takes their orders. She asks for a mojito, he orders what sounds like a very nice house ale. _

_While they wait for their drinks, they make small talk: the weather, current films, and local events. It's meaningless stuff and a little awkward, but when she claims that she would be the perfect movie date for any guy who actually wants to see the film because she prefers action movies to so-called chick-flicks, he allows himself to think it might be a hint that she has already decided she would like to see him again._

_When the waitress returns with their drinks, she asks if they might want a starter. Josie looks at him speculatively._

_"I could do with a bite if you want to order something," he says._

_She browses the menu and asks, "What about the combo?" She reads off, "Enough for two. Breaded chicken goujons, scampi, garlic mushrooms, battered onion rings, garlic bread, potato wedges, and three dips."_

_Lucas is happy to give her whatever she wants. The fact that she is ordering food is, in itself, a good sign as far as he is concerned. It tells him that she intends to spend some time in his company rather than running off as soon as she finishes her mojito. A casual drink can be finished in twenty minutes, ten if one isn't too worried about being polite, but food takes time to prepare and to eat. He's not sure what to make of her ordering a dish with so much garlic and onions, but he supposes if they are going to be sharing it, she won't find the smells too offensive on his breath._

_While they wait for their food, they talk more about themselves and their interests. He is pleased to find they have common ground. Her tastes are wide-ranging and eclectic, everything from surrealist paintings to Renaissance sculpture to tribal American textile arts; from American country music to Gregorian chants to hard rock to Eighteenth Century chamber music; and while she is mad about baseball, she also knows a fair bit about gymnastics and swimming, and, to Lucas's utter astonishment, she has a bit more than passing familiarity with ice hockey, rugby, tennis, and, of all things, curling. Her literary interests encompass Nineteenth Century English romances, modern science fiction, pulp thrillers, folk tales, biographies, and poets of every stripe, and when he discovers that she knows Blake's __**Visions of the Daughters of Albion**__they have a lively discussion on the marriage of text and illustrations._

_When he asks her how she likes her mojito, she says it's lovely and offers him a taste. Grinning, he reaches for the glass and is confused when she slides it away from him._

_"It wouldn't be sanitary for you to drink from my glass," she says._

_He feels a bit stupid as he wonders if she means for him to signal the waitress and ask for a straw. Then she giggles, takes a sip from her glass, catches her forefinger under his chin, and draws him near. _

Americans are delightfully forward_, he thinks, just as their lips are about to meet, and then a waiter drops his tray._

Startled, Lucas jumps, and a searing pain shoots up his back, across his shoulders and down his arms. The world's gone dark, and he's completely disorientated. He struggles, trying to clear the veil from his eyes and discovers he is bound hand and foot. With the onset of panic, he begins to gasp for breath and that is when he catches the scent of mustiness and hay from the feed sack.

Everything comes back at once, and his heart rate rapidly decelerates. What a bizarre world he must live in that the thought of being held prisoner by a lunatic American woman can actually be calming! Well, not calming, necessarily, but not as terrifying as being trapped in complete darkness, not knowing where he is or how he got there.

A tremendous boom of thunder makes him jump, and he curses as the pain shoots through his back and shoulders again. He must have been even more exhausted than he realized to have fallen asleep in such discomfort, particularly when he was trying gauge how long it would take Josie to return. Now, he is not only annoyed to have lost all track of time, he's also pissed off that he has been wanting to kiss her for over a week and can't even manage it in his dreams.

Another blast of thunder makes him flinch, and he hears the first soft whisper of rain. A breath of air stirs the raindrops under the roof of the corn crib where they settle on his skin in a fine, cool mist that raises goose bumps. He shivers a bit, but after the stifling heat of the day, it's a welcome chill.

Since he fell asleep and has no idea how long it will be until Josie gets back, Lucas decides he might as well pick up where his dream left off. If anything, it just means she will get back sooner than he is expecting.

_Her kiss tastes of lime and mint from the mojito. He's a little disappointed that she doesn't try to slide her tongue into his mouth, but he's pleased to be disappointed. After all, there is a difference between being forward and being easy._

_Their food comes, and it all looks delicious. She takes a bite of a prawn, and her eyes light up as she moans in delight. _

_"You have __**got**__ to try this," she says, and she pulls the tail from the other half of the prawn and holds the morsel out for him to take it from her fingers._

_After her trick with the mojito, and seeing that there is no crunchy prawn tail to dispose of, he decides he dare be a bit forward, too. In fact, he is sure she is inviting it. _

_Using his own hand to steady hers and guide it to his lips, he takes the prawn from her fingers with his teeth, closes his eyes and sighs with pleasure because it really is delicious, and then sucks and licks her fingers clean. _

_Once he has swallowed the morsel, he opens his eyes to see her reaction. She is watching him in open-mouthed fascination. When she sees him watching her, she licks her lips and blushes prettily. He can't resist trying for another kiss._

_He releases her hand, and she lets it drop to the table. He slides his hand up her arm and into her hair and gently pulls her close and hesitates a moment to give her a chance to decide if he's moving too fast. When she doesn't he moves to close the final gap between them…_

_And that bloody clumsy waiter dumps a pitcher of ice water over his head._

LUCAS AWAKES SPLUTTERING AND SHOUTING AND DOUSED IN COLD WATER. He tries to move away and realizes he is restrained. It's completely dark and bloody noisy, like he's being held in a very busy train yard, and he realizes there is a wet, mouldy-smelling rag over his face. Panic wells up within him and he struggles not to vomit. It feels like it's been forever already and they haven't asked him any questions.

"Please!" he sobs. "Please stop!"

There is a slight pause and a moment of near silence.

"What do you want?" he pleads. He doesn't want to tell them anything. He hopes he will be strong enough to hold out, but if he can get them to ask him something, he might get a moment to breathe.

An explosion of noise makes him jump, and the pain that causes makes him yell, adding his own panicked voice to the cacophony. The water floods over him again.

"No!" he screams, ashamed of the shrill note of panic in his voice but helpless to do anything about it. "Please! Please don't!"

It's different this time. For one thing, he isn't tied to a board with his feet elevated. He's sitting upright. If he holds his head just right, he can catch a gasp of air every now and then, which is good; but he's getting soaked from head to foot instead of just his face, and he's starting to shiver. He can't remember them coming to take him from his cell, either. God! How long has it been if he can't recall that? And the room is different. It's bloody huge. There's no sense of enclosure. He might as well be outside. God help him, what if he is outside? It can't be winter, he'd have frozen already; but it does feel cold.

"What do you want?" he cries. An icy blast of wind makes his teeth chatter. "P-Please! Just s-stop! P-p-pleeeease!"

It doesn't stop. He sobs and pleads, offers them information, false information, but they don't know that. Always before they would only douse him a few seconds at a time, but this time, it doesn't they really are trying to drown him. Maybe they've decided they can't get any more out of him.

Oh, God! If they're trying to kill him, then Oleg was telling the truth. Harry has never tried to get him back, so they don't think he's worth saving for a trade. Something hard strikes his skin. It happens again, and then again, and something gets caught in the crook of his neck where he's trying to shelter his face against his shoulder to find a pocket of air.

It burns at first, and then he realizes it's cold, and then it slides down his neck and across his chest. They're drowning him in ice water, the bastards!

"P-p-please!" he sobs. "I d-don't want to die. I'll s-say anything you want. J-just d-don't let me d-die."

No one answers and the dousing doesn't stop. They must know he doesn't mean it. He's not so sure.

"God damn you, Harry Pearce! I hope you rot in hell!" That, he means with all his heart.

LUCAS HAS LOST ALL TRACK OF TIME, but it is starting to feel like this torture is the only memory he has. They haven't asked him a single question, haven't spoken a solitary word. He's managed to twist and squirm into a position that gives him a breathing space, but he's lost most the feeling in his hands by doing it. There's no more ice pelting him, but the cold water hasn't stopped and he's debating whether drowning would be an easier death than hypothermia.

"God damn you, bastards!" he shouts. "Why don't you just shoot me, strangle me, slit my throat! I don't bloody care! Just make it quick. I haven't done anything to deserve this!"

There is no answer, and he begins to sob weakly. They've left him alone. He's going to die alone. He wants to end it quickly, but he's too much of a coward to turn his face into the water and drown himself.

EVEN THOUGH IT'S COMPLETELY DARK, Lucas can feel a deeper darkness settling in. He can't stop trembling and he is so very tired. He thinks again about turning his face into the water, but he doesn't have the energy. His wrists hurt, but that's the only pain he feels, that, and sadness.

He laughs slightly. He thinks he remembers going home, going back to work, Malcolm making him a cup of tea. He thinks he remembers a sunny day and watching children play and eating hot dogs and flirting with a pretty girl. It's all mixed up and none of it makes any sense, but he reaches for it in his mind because it's a pleasant hallucination, a nice way to go.

Cursing and shouting come through the darkness, far away at first and then louder, closer, more real. He hears footsteps, feels hands on him.

"No!" he yells, and tries feebly to kick them away. He's ready now. He's ready to let go so they can't hurt him anymore.

"Alexei! Car! Blanket!" he hears. It sounds like someone commanding a dog.

"Lucas! Oh, God, Lucas! I'm sorry," the voice says. It's a woman.

"Let me go!" he protests.

There's a crinkly noise as something is wrapped around him, and the water stops striking his skin. Someone slaps his face lightly, not trying to hurt him. When did they remove the hood?

"Lucas! Look at me, Lucas!" the woman commands.

He can't be bothered to try.

His arms are suddenly freed and they _hurt_. Someone smacks his face again, harder this time.

"Look at me, damn you!" The tone is desperate, not vicious, and he feels compelled to obey.

He opens his eyes to look and sees the pretty girl from his hallucination. It's all a jumble; he doesn't know what's real. Standing behind the girl is a man. Somehow, Lucas knows his name is Alexei.

He looks at the girl again.

"Josie." He knows her name is Josie. She did this to him, but why?

He begins to shake so violently his teeth chatter.

He throws his arms around her, clinging desperately.

"H-help me," he sobs. "P-p-please, help me."

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	8. Respite

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter seven: Respite_

ONLY WHEN HE'S STUMBLING TOWARD THE HOUSE does Lucas realize that his feet are no longer bound. Now they're so cold and numb that he aches all the way to his knees and he's shaking so badly he can't seem to move them properly. Actually he aches all over, but he notices his feet and legs the most, maybe because he's walking. They get to the house and there are three steps up to the porch. It feels like all he can do to climb them, and he wants to rest on the swing the moment he sees it.

"No, no, no," Josie says, pulling him back. "We need to get you inside, warmed up, and dried off. Just twenty more feet, and you can sit. I promise."

Lucas bites back a sob. He wants to sit _now._

Half walking, half dragging him, Josie and Alexei take him through the door and down a short hall to a small bathroom. Not even speaking, Josie commands Alexei with a loud snap and a point of her fingers to turn on a heater. Then turning Lucas to face her so he can lean against her, she pulls out her smart phone, fiddles with it a bit, and hands it to Alexei.

"Alexei, towels, cupboard in hall, right side."

She pokes a button on the screen, making sure Alexei sees which one it is, and the app translates the short phrases perfectly. It's weird to Lucas that he notices this. It's as if he has tunnel vision and that phone is the only thing he can see. Everything else around him is out of focus.

"_Da,_" Alexei replies, and he's off to do her bidding.

Lucas is aware of Josie checking his pulse with one hand while rummaging in a cabinet with the other. She makes a small, dissatisfied noise and the hand that was on his wrist moves up to his neck.

"Better," she says. Then she is sliding something into his ear. He shakes her off, and she uses her free hand to press his head down to rest on her shoulder.

He sees the toilet and says, "Sit."

"Three seconds," she mutters. "Give me three seconds, and we'll get you out of those wet shorts and into the tub."

_Wait,_ Lucas thinks, but he doesn't want to wait.

The thing slides into his ear again, and this time he grits his teeth and keeps still because that seems to be what she wants.

_I waited too long, _his cloudy thoughts latch on to that one idea. _She promised she would hurry, but she never came._ Just that quickly, he is enraged.

"Ninety-three," she mutters, putting the thing down and hooking her thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. "Right in the middle of stage-two hypothermia."

"You bitch!" he yells, grabbing her arms and shoving her against the wall.

"Lucas, no!" she gasps.

"You promised you'd hurry, but you left me there for hours!" he accuses her, pulling her toward him and slamming her against the wall again.

"Lucas, I don't want to hurt you," she says calmly. "Let me go and we can talk."

He backhands her across the face, and slams her into the wall again.

"I've had enough of your talk and more than enough of your threats!" he shouts.

As he is yelling, a detached part of his mind sees spittle spraying her in the face and knows it's his. Another part of him is saying that this is a foolish way to treat someone who is trying to help him, but most of him doesn't give a fuck. She did this to him, she can suffer the consequences.

"What did you think you were doing?" he demands, smashing her into the wall again. "Did you think you could torture me and get information to sell on to the highest bidder?"

He balls up his fist, but some part of him refuses to punch her, so he slaps her again.

"I spent eight years in a Russian prison. Eight years being tortured and interrogated by monsters who would have happily done it just for fun! You can't imagine the things they did to me, and I never gave in to them, so don't think for a minute that you're going to get any more out of me than you already have!"

As he's yelling at her, he keeps bouncing her off the wall. She is looking increasingly uncomfortable with the situation, but she doesn't cry out or ask him to stop. She doesn't even resist. She's being so passive that Lucas wonders whether he's finally succeeded in frightening her or completely failed to affect her.

"Lucas, I didn't torture you, and I didn't just leave you," she says with infuriating calm. "You're hypothermic and confused. Let me get you warmed up and we can talk."

"No!" he yells, "No more talk!"

She sets her jaw in a way that telegraphs bad things for him, but he can't think fast enough to respond.

"Suit yourself," she says.

With surprising speed and strength, she brings both of her arms inside of his and thrusts them up and out, breaking his hold on her as easily as if he were a child. Then she brings the edges of her hands down hard on either side of his neck, striking his trapezius muscles with such force that everything goes painfully numb from the base of his skull to the bottom of his shoulder blades and down his arms halfway to his elbows. Before he can react, she slips her right foot between his feet, hooks his right ankle, and gives him a shove.

Lucas tumbles backward. He's still cold and numb, which makes him clumsy, and now he's hurting, too, and helpless to break his fall. Before he knows it, he's on the floor, wedged between the toilet and the sink. Instinctively, he curls into a ball, protecting himself from a kick or a blow that never comes.

He lies there, trembling, and not entirely from the cold. He's nearly a foot taller than her. She should not have had the strength and the leverage to do what she was able to do so easily. Something is seriously wrong with him.

He flinches when she lays a hand on his back, but her touch is gentle.

"Lucas? Lucas, I want you to listen to me," she says in the same old-ladies-and-children tone she used when she had the knife in his neck back in the car. "Your temperature is five or six degrees below normal, which means you are moderately hypothermic," she tells him. "The drop in body temperature affects your reasoning, saps your strength, and decreases your coordination. That is why you feel confused and weak and clumsy. If you let me help you, you'll be just fine, but if you don't get warmed up soon, you're only going to get worse. Now, will you let me help you get up?"

Lucas remains quiet. What she says makes sense, but he still feels confused. He doesn't understand why she left him to be tortured or why she wants to help him now. He doesn't understand the reason for his suffering, either, because nobody ever asked him any questions. The only thing of which he is certain is that he is cold and needs to get warm, and he needs her help to do that.

"Lucas?" she asks, still in her calming tone. "I won't do anything without your consent, but I need you to answer me."

"I-I-I can get up," he says hesitantly. He turns so that he can get one knee under him, rests an arm on the toilet seat, grabs the sink, and pushes himself unsteadily to his feet.

She is right there to pull his one arm around her shoulders as she wraps her own arm round his waist, and Alexei, who at some point returned unobserved with the towels, ducks under his other arm to support him. When she is sure Alexei has him, Josie slides her fingers inside his waistband and skins off his boxers. His legs feel heavy and his feet are numb and she has to lift them out of the shorts for him.

Lucas is too tired to be embarrassed by his nudity. He just wants to sit, or better yet, lie down, and rest, but Josie and Alexei move him to the tub. He tries to step into it, but he can't lift his feet that high, so he sinks down to sit on the edge trusting them to sort him out, and they do. With Alexei steadying him and helping him pivot, Josie lifts his feet, one at a time, over the edge and together they help him slide into the tub.

"Alexei, hot chocolate, kitchen, under light switch," Josie says as she starts drawing warm water. Pointing, she adds, "That way."

Alexei presses the button on the phone screen and says, "_Da._" He leaves the phone on the counter.

The tub has one of those hand-held shower heads that snaps into a bracket on the wall for hands-free use. Lucas sees her reach for it and tries to cower away, but he has no place to go.

"No!" he finally cries out.

"I'm just going to run some warm water over you," she soothes, "down your shoulders and back to warm you up."

"No shower!" he tells her as he tries to turn and climb out of the tub, but she is blocking his way. He gives her a shove, but he's weak as a kitten and she barely moves.

"Please, no," he begs.

"Ok! Ok, Lucas, no shower," she says, grabbing his shoulders to steady him when he finds he can't stand up properly. "You can just soak in the tub and I'll use a washcloth to scrub your back."

"No shower?" he asks, dimly aware that he sounds slightly stupid. He's stuck in the tub on one knee, too weak to stand up, too disorientated to sit down.

"No, no shower, but you have stay in the tub until I say you can get out, ok?"

He nods, dumbly, he realizes, and lets her guide him back into the water. It's warm and lovely, and as long as she doesn't turn on that shower head, he'll be fine.

She grabs a flannel, squirts a bit of gel on it, soaks it in the water, and begins washing his back. Alexei comes in with the chocolate, and hands it to him. There are tiny, desiccated marshmallows floating in it. He is still shaking so violently that some of the drink spills down his chest, and Alexei moves quickly to steady his hand and guide the mug slowly to his lips.

The chocolate is about halfway gone when Lucas realizes that he is embarrassed by his naked and helpless condition, and suddenly he feels the blessed warmth of a blush heat his cheeks.

"YOU CAN LEAVE ME ON MY OWN NOW," Lucas says sullenly.

"Not a chance," Josie replies. "Hypoglycaemia goes hand in hand with hypothermia. I don't need you fainting from low blood sugar."

"I've finished my cocoa," he says, waving the empty mug at her. "You can go."

"You could crash again at any moment," she replies. "Also, you're so exhausted you can barely keep your eyes open. Don't need you falling asleep in the bathtub either."

Lucas just scowls at her and sulks.

She gives him a smile and stands up, pulls the shower curtain halfway across, and moves to sit on the toilet. At least now he has some semblance of privacy, and she has sent Alexei off to another bathroom to freshen up. Lucas is not happy with the situation, but he recognizes her attempt to compromise.

"Why did you leave me out there so long?" he demands, keeping his voice low, almost a whisper, because he's afraid if he speaks any louder she will hear the tremor in it.

"Lucas, I wasn't gone ninety minutes," she says.

"Liar," he sneers. "It was hours. I thought you were trying to drown me."

"No, you thought I was trying to torture you," she says.

He scowls and turns away to look at the wall.

"Do you remember accusing me of that?" she asks.

He shakes his head and refuses to look at her.

"Do you understand that it was a storm, Lucas?" she asks. "Nobody was doing anything to you. You were just caught out in the rain, or rain and hail, I guess it was."

He thinks about it a moment. He remembers the terrifying noise and finally realizes it was just thunder. The ice was hailstones, not someone deliberately dousing him with ice water.

He nods. "But you were gone so long."

"Lucas, I'm sorry for what happened," she says sincerely. "Leaving you in the corn crib was a stupid idea. I should have put you someplace with more protection from the elements, but I did not abandon you. I really did come back as quickly as I could. It was less than an hour and a half."

Lucas huffs. He doesn't understand why she is lying to him now. He's not in any condition to do anything about it.

"I can prove it," she says.

His head whips around and he looks at her curiously.

She picks up the phone from where Alexei left it beside the sink.

"The translation app logs the conversation, see?" she shows him. "Each line of text is time coded." She scrolls up. "This is where I told Alexei to get in the car."

Lucas read the time aloud. "Oh-two-thirty-eight."

Josie scrolls down for him. "This is where I told him to get the emergency blanket out of the trunk of the car."

"Oh-four-oh-two," he says numbly. "An hour and…" He can't do the math right now, tries counting it off on his fingers and fails.

"Twenty-four minutes, Lucas," Josie supplies gently. "I was gone one hour and twenty-four minutes, and that includes the time it took to move you from the middle of the corn crib floor to the corner. I sprinted from where I ditched the Chrysler all the way back to the storage unit. A twenty-three-minute 5K isn't exactly a world record, but it's pretty damn good for a woman over forty who wasn't even training for the race."

He hears the humour in her tone, knows she is trying to lift his spirits.

"And in the rain, too," he comments. "I'm impressed." He's also aware that he sounds completely detached.

"It wasn't raining," Josie says, sounding a bit confused.

"But the storm," Lucas objects. "It must have started just after you left."

She brings up a mobile app that displays weather radar and says, "Watch the time codes. The storm only lasted about twenty minutes."

Suddenly he understands why small children cry when they are tired. It takes some effort to keep his emotions in check.

"I just want to go to sleep," he says.

"Once I'm sure you're stable," she says.

He cringes when she slides the temperature probe into his ear again, but manages not to pull away.

"Ninety-seven point three," she says. "You stay right there. I'll be back in a minute."

Lucas closes his eyes and lets his head rest against the wall. He doesn't doze off, but his mind is an utter blank. Josie could be gone seconds or days. It's all the same to him.

"These should fit you all right," she says returning with maroon sweatpants, a matching hoodie, and a soft, white cotton t-shirt. "Might even be a bit large for you."

"How do you come to have a man's track suit in my size?" Lucas wonders aloud as she helps him out of the tub.

"That's one more mystery to be revealed when you are feeling better," she says.

He stands still, supporting himself with one hand against the wall while she dries him with a fluffy white towel. He's so tired he's lost all sense of modesty, but notices that she tends to him with almost professional efficiency.

"You did everything for your grandfather, didn't you?" he asks.

"In the end, yes," she says after a moment's thought in which she eventually links the non sequitur back to helping him relieve himself before she left him in the corn crib.

"It didn't bother you? The…intimacy?"

"I loved him, he needed care," she says. "Do you think he would have been more comfortable spending money he didn't have to pay a stranger who didn't know him from Adam?"

"I suppose not," he admits. "A lot of responsibility on a teenage girl, though."

"I was a responsible kid," she tells him. "And I volunteered for it. Everyone else in the family had to work, lived too far away, or had small children who required attention. I heard my mom and her siblings discussing it, and I said I could do it. Granddad wasn't expected to make it through the summer and school had just let out, so I had the time. It took some convincing, but I was the logical choice, and I wanted to help."

"You were a remarkable teenager," Lucas comments and manages to step clumsily into the track bottoms that she is holding open for him.

"I told you before, my granddad was a remarkable man," she replies. "It was a privilege to care for him."

She pulls the bottoms up, ties the drawstring, helps him pull the t-shirt over his head and holds the hoodie open for him. Once he has it on, she zips it for him and helps him to sit on the toilet so she can slip some thick, woolly socks on his feet.

"I put Alexei to work fixing us a bite to eat while I was collecting your clothes," she tells him. "I gave him a tray to bring it to your room."

"I'm not hungry," he tells her. "I just want to sleep."

"I don't doubt it," she says, guiding him out of the bathroom, and down the hall. "You must be exhausted, but that one cup of cocoa didn't give you enough energy to warm you up properly. If you don't get some solid food in you, that hypoglycaemia I mentioned could still sneak up on you in your sleep. If you don't wake up in the morning, I'm stuck with Alexei."

Lucas whimpers in dismay when they arrive at the bottom of a flight of stairs. She can't possibly expect him to climb them in his state, can she?

"Don't worry," she replies, as if answering his thoughts. "You don't have to walk it."

She flips a switch and a chair attached to the wall glides smoothly down.

"We had the lift chair installed after my grandmother had her stroke," she says, helping him to sit. "It made sense to keep it. I find it convenient for moving laundry and Christmas decorations when I pull them out of the attic, and a couple of years ago, a friend who lives alone stayed with me after she broke both legs in a car accident."

She walks up the stairs beside him, helps him out of the chair, and guides him into the nearest bedroom. As he sits on the bed, she shows him the en-suite loo, tells him there are towels and toiletries there for his use, and he pays her no attention. He's sure he'll figure it out when the need arises. Then she comes over, helps him swing his legs up on the mattress and covers him to the waist, but she won't let him lie down. They are still arguing when Alexei arrives with a tray laden with scrambled eggs, orange juice, toast, and tea. There's also a sugar dispenser and a small glass of milk.

_"I make tea the way my wife says they do it in England," _Alexei says pouring it out with a smile. _"I hope it's good."_

Lucas's hands are trembling with exhaustion, but he manages to add milk and sugar, stir it in, and take a sip without making too much of a mess.

_"It's good," _he answers, and Alexei rewards him with a grin. Staring at the mounds of food, he says to Josie, "I'm sorry, but I really don't feel like eating."

She spreads three slices of toast with butter and jelly, puts them on a plate and hands it to him.

"Eat that, drink your juice and tea, and I'll leave you alone," she says. "You need the carbohydrates to fuel your body to warm you up."

He scowls at her, but begins nibbling a slice of toast. Before it is gone, he finds he is ravenous. Alexei has made enough for the three of them, but Lucas ends up eating half of the eggs and all of the toast himself. He also drinks most of the tea and two glasses of orange juice.

When he realizes what a glutton he has been, he apologizes. Neither Josie nor Alexei is having any of it.

"Plenty where that came from," Josie assures him.

_"It takes five minutes to cook an egg and toast," _Alexei says. _"If we feel hungry, we'll make more. You needed it more than we did."_

Pleasantly full and finally, _finally_ warm, Lucas dozes off without even saying goodnight.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	9. Nightmare Games

_**Busman's Holiday**_

_Chapter Eight: Nightmare Games_

OLEG IS PLAYING A NEW GAME, ONE LUCAS DOES NOT UNDERSTAND. At first he was warm; probably for the first time in months he was truly, comfortably warm, and resting in a soft bed, swaddled like a babe in cosy blankets. He was right to think it was some kind of trick, but it has gone in a completely different direction to what he was expecting.

At first, he lay there, enjoying the unexpected comfort, taking what pleasure he could, expecting a British traitor, someone with a perfect accent and command of all the correct idioms, to walk in at any moment, telling him he was home. Didn't he remember the rescue operation? Well, he was in bad shape when they found him, but he's doing much better now. As soon as they finish debriefing him and get him back on his feet, he can be on his way. As much as he wants to believe it could be true, he read Roald Dahl's "Beware of the Dog"* in school, so he knows better than to be taken in.

But no one has come in telling him he is home and safe on British soil. Instead, the room has just gotten warmer and warmer, the blankets tighter and tighter. Every time he moves, he is more restricted, like an insect struggling in a spider's web. Now, the air is stifling, hard to breathe, he's damp with perspiration, and there is something around his neck growing tighter each time he shifts, slowly choking him. It's not exactly a stress position, because he is not being made to hold himself in any one position, but just lying still is becoming stressful in itself.

Being isolated in his cell, alone in the dark is bad enough, being unable to stretch or move is torture. His shoulder aches from lying on it and his arm is going numb. He's got a stitch in his side where the bed does not conform to the curve of his body, and he has an itch that he can't scratch on the back of his left calf.

Usually he is able to hold out much longer, but today, tonight, whatever time it is, it doesn't matter because it is pitch black, this time, he has no patience. He might have been surprised if Oleg had been clever enough to go for the "Beware of the Dog" deception, but the fact that he has come up with something unique is unsettling. Oleg is an intelligent, reasonably well-educated man, but he is not creative. Anything new and unexpected makes Lucas worry that they have brought in a different interrogator. A new interrogator means new tactics, possibly new questions. Lucas will have to adjust his expectations and responses once again, and he really isn't sure how much more he can adapt before he loses it and either goes mad or starts telling them everything he knows.

Worry and anxiety are his greatest enemies. Better to be proactive, so he channels his fears into annoyance. Soon, besides being hot and uncomfortable and having trouble breathing, Lucas is thoroughly pissed off.

"I'm getting bored, Oleg!" he shouts at the top of his voice trying to fill his tone with mocking irritation. "If you've run out of questions, why don't you send me back to my cell and leave me alone?"

He struggles against the swaddling again, trying to free his numb arm and relieve the bothersome pressure he has just noticed on his left hip, and suddenly the thing around his throat is tight and choking.

"O-Oleg!" he gasps. "Guh! God! He-Help!"

SOMEONE IS SHAKING HIM. He feels cool fingers against his neck, a soft hand on his brow. He can breathe again

"Lucas? Lucas, it's all right," says a woman's voice.

"Christ! Not you again," he murmurs before he is fully aware.

"I'll try not to take that personally."

He hears a chuckle in her tone and his eyes snap open and squint nearly shut against a bright light. The bitch who tortured him before had no sense of humour. She was a bloody automaton.

He takes in a large, comfortable four-poster bed made of dark wood, probably antique, and hung with heavy, velvet drapes and a matching canopy in a gold and burgundy floral pattern on an ivory background. The bedroom is large and well-appointed with a carpet in an autumnal more-golden-than-brown shade and brocade wallpaper the colour of candlelit ivory. There is a chest of drawers with a large mirror, a tall wardrobe in the corner, matching bedside tables, and by the window, a pair of Victorian armchairs and a fainting couch upholstered in fabric to coordinate with the bed placed around a low coffee table decorated with fresh flowers.

"Lucas?"

He focuses on the woman. With her dark curls and dimpled smile, she looks lovely in her dark red satin robe.

"Josie," he mutters and begins to shake. Everything from the past few hours comes back to him at once. It is a disconcerting flood of memories, but better than the confusion of a few moments ago.

"Sorry," he apologises. "I didn't mean to wake you, I was just…"

"Having a nightmare?" she finishes for him when he trails off.

"Yeah," he nods.

"From the state of the bedclothes, it must have been a doosie!" she remarks lightly. "You even had the control cord for the electric blanket around your neck."

He looks down at the blankets. They are twisted in knots around him. Josie is holding the control dial in her hand. He remembers cool fingers on his neck and a violent tremor runs through him.

"I…Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he repeats.

"It's all right," she reassures him. "I wasn't quite asleep yet anyway. I was just checking on Alexei before I turned in. It looks like, after I left, you woke up and turned the blanket up to maximum and then fell asleep before you could put the controller back on the nightstand. Then you got tangled in it while you were tossing and turning in your dream."

"Yeah," Lucas agrees.

She sits there for several moments rubbing his back while he shakes. Finally, into the silence she asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I…" Yes, actually, he does, but, "I don't remember. It's just a blank."

"Hmmm. That is the nature of dreams sometimes," she comments. "Maybe it's best you _don't_ remember that one."

They're silent again for a bit. Lucas realizes he is sweating, so he unzips the hoodie and pulls it off. Then he sits there feeling stupid and looking around for somewhere to put it. With a smile, Josie takes it from his hands.

As she crosses to the wardrobe, she says, "You're never going to be able to sleep in the bed the state it's in. Why don't you go into the bathroom and splash some water on your face while I make it up for you?"

"You don't have to," Lucas says as he begins extricating himself from the tangled bedclothes.

"I want to," she says.

He doesn't feel like arguing, so he just does as she says. He's a little wobbly and can feel her eyes on him as he crosses the room, but he manages to get to the loo on his own. Standing at the sink, he realizes the t-shirt and track pants she has loaned him are soaked with sweat and it makes him feel disgusting. So he strips them off and washes himself down quickly with a flannel and some warm water from the sink. Then he relieves himself and washes his hands. He wishes he had a pair of shorts to sleep in, but since he doesn't have any, he wraps a fluffy towel around his waist. He waits a few minutes, hoping Josie will leave, but when he goes out into the bedroom, she is just pulling the curtains shut at one of the windows. He glances at the clock on the chest of drawers and realizes dawn is less than thirty minutes away. When she crosses to the other window, he tosses the towel across the foot of the bed and quickly slides under the covers while her back is turned.

"Thank you for re-making the bed for me," he says, plumping the pillows behind him and leaning against the headboard.

"You're welcome," comes the kind reply. "I took away the electric blanket. You seem warm enough now without it, and that cord is a risk I'd rather not take again."

He smirks sheepishly, adjusts the blankets a little higher round his waist, and says, "I can't argue with that."

"Do you often have nightmares?" she asks and she closes the drapes first on the side of the bed and then at the foot.

"I…I don't think so," he says. "If I do, I don't wake up fully enough to remember them."

"Do you usually wake feeling well-rested?" she asks going into the toilet.

"I'm not sure I can recall what well-rested feels like," he admits. "Most mornings I feel like I've been hit by a lorry."

She comes out of the loo with a glass of water. He looks dumbly from it to her.

"You were bathed in perspiration when I came in," she says. "I don't want you getting dehydrated."

He doesn't argue. She's had her way with everything tonight, and he doesn't expect her to back down now. When he takes the glass, he notices his hand is shaking. So does she.

"You're trembling," she says.

She reaches up and touches his cheek. At first he leans into her caress and then realises what he is doing and pulls away. She reaches down and squeezes his free hand. Feeling sheepish, he gives the water glass back to her and slides down under the covers.

"You're not cold, but you're trembling," she repeats.

"So?"

"I know a trauma survivor when I see one, Lucas," she says gently.

"I'll be all right," he insists softly.

There is a quiet moment as she runs her fingers comfortingly through his hair and he can almost feel her thinking.

"Scoot over," she says, picking up the bath towel and the water glass.

"What?"

"Make room," she calls from the loo.

"For what?"

"For me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Look," she says practically as she sits on the edge of the bed beside him, "you've had a hell of a night, and that likely wasn't the last nightmare you'll have before time to get up. If I don't get to sleep before dawn, I might as well not bother, and you really don't want to face me when I've not had any beauty sleep at all. This is the only room in the house that has drapes heavy enough to block out the sun. If I can just roll over and give you a nudge to shake you out of a bad dream, that's a whole lot easier on both of us than if I have to roll out of bed, put on my robe and slippers, come all the way down the hall, turn on the light, pull the drapes back from the bed, shake you awake, remind you where you are and that you're ok now, get you settled in again, trudge back to my room, undress, and crawl back into my own bed."

Lucas is touched that she plans to take such good care of him. It's more than anyone has done in a very long time. Even when he first came back from Russia, he was mostly left on his own except for the doddering old biddy who lived downstairs and baked him macaroons and spied on him for Harry.

"Please let's just do this the easy way," she begs when he is quiet for too long.

He notices the dark circles under her eyes for the first time and realises he is not the only one who has had a difficult evening. Without another word, he moves over and lifts the blankets for her.

"Thank you," she says, getting up quickly to flip the switch and then sliding in beside him.

As he settles himself under the covers, she snuggles close to him. His breath catches in his throat when he feels soft skin against his bare flesh, and then he feels her arm go around his waist.

"Thank you," he whispers and drops a kiss on her forehead.

Then he is asleep.

TBC

**Author's note: **I know this chapter came up a bit short, but it made sense to stop here. If you want to know what's going on inside Lucas's head when he wakes, go read "Beware of the Dog" by Welsh-born author Roald Dahl. short/beware_of_the_


	10. Butting Heads

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Nine: Butting Heads_

WHEN LUCAS WAKES, he is immediately aware of a sense of well-being and a feeling of being rested. He opens his eyes onto dense darkness and begins to turn in the bed, looking for a ray of light, something to help orient himself and show the way out; and then he catches a faint floral scent from the pillow beside him. Josie has left her fragrance behind. He smiles as he remembers her gentle stubbornness in looking after him. Now that he knows where he is, he snuggles deeper under the covers and allows himself to doze contentedly for a few more minutes while he gets his thoughts in order. When he returns to full wakefulness, he has no idea how long he has been lingering under the covers, but he has a crystal clear vision of what he needs to do today.

Pulling back the drapes around the bed, he rolls out from under the covers, and the first thing he sees is the wardrobe sitting with the doors wide open and a selection of clothing in his size on hangers inside. Opening the top drawer, he also finds socks and underwear, all new, judging by the vividness of the colours and the brightness of the whites. As he did last night, he wonders again how she comes to have clothing in his size. He puts the question on his mental list as a low-priority item.

Josie has retrieved his shoes from the car, and beside them in the bottom of the wardrobe is a pair of gently used hiking boots. He rather suspects she has provided the boots for a reason, so he decides to try them on right away. To go with the boots, he chooses a pair of white cotton crew socks; soft, faded blue jeans; and a very dark blue t-shirt. Since he had a bath last night and then washed up again when he woke from his nightmare, he decides to just wash quickly with a flannel at the sink this morning. As he dresses, he realises all of the clothes feel soft and comfortable and smell freshly laundered, and he wonders how long Josie has been awake and how soundly he must have been sleeping for her to do all of that and come into the room and put the clothes in the wardrobe without disturbing him.

Now fully dressed, Lucas walks about the room, making the bed, pulling back the heavy velvet drapes and the curtains at the windows. There are new flowers in the vase on the coffee table. Dahlias, variegated in almost neon hues of pink and yellow along with some small, yellow, daisy-like flowers and elegant, airy ferns. There's also a tall, overstuffed bookcase in the corner which he failed to notice last night. Scanning the titles, he finds it is filled with everything from the King James Bible to _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy._ He pulls down _William Blake: The Complete Illuminated Books_ and flips through it briefly, admiring the beautiful illustrations, reading some of the hand-written margin notes, and regretting that he didn't have more time to spend just chatting with Josie. If she really has read all the titles on this shelf, he knows they would have much to discuss.

Deciding it is time to get to work, Lucas puts the book back on the shelf, making a mental note of the exact title so that he can look it up when he gets home and possibly order it online. Then he leaves the room, heads down the stairs, and as he turns the corner into the kitchen, a steaming mug of fragrant tea is thrust into his hands.

"Rise and shine, sleepy-head!" Josie greets him. "You _almost_ made it in time for 'good morning.' How did you sleep?"

Inhaling the aromatic steam, he considers his answer.

"Very well, thank you," he admits with a little surprise. "For the first time in ages, I think."

Josie smiles. "I'm glad."

Gesturing to his mug, he asks, "How'd you know…"

"When you'd be coming down?" Josie finishes when he trails off, unsure how to finish the question.

Lucas nods.

"The floorboards upstairs creak, which means the ceiling down here squeaks," she explains. "I knew the moment you got out of bed. The old pipes also rattle and gurgle a bit, so I knew when you used the bathroom, and estimated how long it would take you to dress after that. Now, I haven't been taught how to make tea in the proper English tradition, like Alexei has, so I can only hope it's all right."

Lucas takes another deep breath and enjoys the delicious aroma before taking a sip. Sweet, milky, strong without being bitter.

"It's perfect," he declares. "Thank you, but how did you know how I drink it?"

"I watched you last night when you doctored the mug Alexei made for you."

"Ahh," Lucas grunts. He barely remembers so he'll have to take her word for it. "Observant and thoughtful. I appreciate it."

He sits at the island next to Alexei who is slathering a slice of toast with marmalade. Josie places an empty plate in front of him gives him a set of flatware rolled up in a napkin, sets a place for herself and brings out a platter laden with sausage, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and toast.

"Help yourself. I was going to do bacon, biscuits and gravy, and some fresh fruit, too," she says, "but then I decided I'd rather have a big dinner since I'm cooking for company."

"What? Who's coming?" Lucas asks, horrified, pausing with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. "When?"

She scowls at him. "I'm talking about you and Alexei," she says.

Lucas clearly hears the appended _idiot_ that she is too polite to say.

"Oh," he replies, feeling a bit foolish, and eats the eggs.

"And would that have been an appropriate time to add a British insult like 'you git'?" she teases.

Lucas can feel himself blushing. "Yes, it would, have," he tells her, and cuts off a bite of sausage. Then, wanting to change the subject, he asks, "How long until we have to call Harry?"

"About five hours," she says. "I called him at 3:52 this morning." Gesturing to the platter, she asks, "Do you have all you want?"

"Yes, thank you," Lucas says with a nod and a wave of his hand indicating that she should take the rest. "Once I've reported in, Alexei and I will get out of your hair."

"Ummmm, no. That's not the plan," Josie tells him around a mouthful of potatoes.

"_What did she say?_" asks Alexei who has been using the telephone translation app to follow the conversation.

Lucas translates.

"What did he say?" Josie asks.

"He wanted to know what _you _said," Lucas replies. "Apparently the phone can't understand you when you talk with your mouth full."

Josie laughs. "And, wow, isn't that a surreal line? When you were in school, did you _ever_ think you would utter that sentence?"

Lucas has to chuckle now, too. "No. Good lord! I feel like a dinosaur."

"Trust me, we _are_ dinosaurs," she tells him. "I teach high school, remember?"

Lucas just shakes his head, certain that it isn't true but not wanting to waste time arguing the point. She can stick to her cover story if she wants. As long as she's helping him, he doesn't really care. He just wants to get back on track.

"Look, I appreciate you wanting to help us, but we've put you in too much danger already," he says. "After we talk to Harry, Alexei and I are getting out of here."

"And I said no, you're not," she insists. "Not until you have a plan in place that doesn't slander my hometown. Besides, knowing that your operation is blown, you need backup."

Lucas rolls his eyes. There it is again, that annoying confidence that tells him with utter certainty that she isn't just an ordinary schoolteacher. Even so, he needs to get shot of her.

"Look, I don't know why you're being so cavalier about this," he says. "It is not a bloody James Bond film! You may not fully comprehend the gravity of the situation or the danger that you're in just having me here in your house, but surely you can at least understand that those were _real bullets_ those blokes were firing at you last night!"

"Yes! And those were _real men_ that I killed by leading them into an accident on that wicked bend!" Josie shouts back. "I _get it_, Lucas! I have two foreign nationals under my roof, both with piles of forged papers and fake IDs. One of them has sensitive information that my government would probably kill to get their hands on, if they didn't have you to do it for them. The other is intent on getting the first one out of the country by illegal, clandestine means bypassing all customs and immigration protocols. If I get caught helping you, depending on how the prosecutor wants to spin it, that's _treason_, and in this country, treason carries the death penalty!

"Of course, if we do get by the authorities, your operation is blown, anyway," she reminds him. "Somebody has sold you down the river, and you have no clue who it might be or how they're getting their information. You can't rely on any of your normal resources or connections because you don't know where your security has been breached. There is a very good chance that, if we don't get arrested, more men with guns will be coming after us, and if they're just a little bit lucky, I won't have to worry about the death penalty for treason.

"I _do _understand the risks," she stresses, "maybe better than you, and I'm still offering my help because I think you're doing the right thing and because there's a child at risk. I have resources you need, transportation, hiding places, cash; and through the school security officers I work with, I have connections with the local police who can get a man we can trust in there with Elena and Max so that you don't have to rely on some Fed who may or may not be your mole.

"I'm a lot tougher than I look, Lucas," she says stubbornly, "and I don't scare easily. Nobody makes me do anything I don't want to do, and nobody stops me from doing what I want. So, what'll it be, Lucas? Are you going to take my help, or are you going to continue to be a damned pig-headed fool who winds up getting himself and his…associate killed because he just has to do it all by himself?"

"_Let her help_," Alexei says quietly.

Lucas can't believe the translation app has kept up with Josie's rant. "_Why?_"

"_You are thinking about obtaining my data_," Alexei says. "_She is thinking about saving my son._"

The Russian's tone is not at all accusing, simply practical, as if he understands that spies operate a little differently to most people, but still Lucas feels awkward and monstrous. Alexei is right. His official objective is to get the intelligence Alexei and his family are carrying, and he completely lost sight of the human factor. Lucas knows it is just an occupational hazard and not a character flaw, otherwise he wouldn't feel like such a bastard right now, but he should never have forgotten that Alexei's goal is to give his son a better life and to hell with the intel.

"We'll see what Harry says," he finally allows. He sees no sense in continuing to butt heads with her right now, but he is still unwilling to completely commit to a partnership with this woman who is definitely more than an ordinary school teacher. "Perhaps, if he has managed to unravel a few of your secrets by then, he can tell me whether you're really up to the challenge."

Josie sighs and nods. "Fair enough. Now, if you two will help me, we can have a really good supper waiting for us when we get done chatting with Harry. I was thinking unstuffed pork chops with apple and walnut dressing, garden salad, green beans, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and maybe a dump cake for dessert."

"What," Lucas asks dubiously, "is an unstuffed pork chop?"

Grinning, Josie says, "You'll see."

WITH JOSIE DIRECTING ACTIVITIES, they have dinner ready to go into the oven in less than an hour. While Alexei peels potatoes and Lucas minces carrots, celery, and onion for the dressing, Josie pulls an enormous log-shaped slab of meat out of the refrigerator. At over two feet long and ranging from three inches wide at the narrow end to nearly eight inches at the broad end, the thing must weigh ten to twelve pounds. Josie puts it on a cutting board with a groove running the perimeter to catch the juices, and slits open the vacuum-sealed packaging. In less than ten minutes and fifteen cuts with her knife, she has trimmed the fat and broken it down into two small roasts and a dozen chops. Lucas can't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" Josie asks as she wraps the roasts and half the chops for the freezer.

"Well, I'm afraid, if I have to explain it, it's not going to be all that funny," he admits. "I loathe fighting people who choose to defend themselves with knives. I always harbour this fear that they're just a hell of a lot better at wielding them than I am and that I am going to end up filleted. Watching you just now, I feel completely vindicated."

"Yeah, well, like anything, it comes with practice," she says. "Beyond that, the single most important thing is a sharp blade. My knives never go in the sink unless I have a mat in the bottom of it, they're always hand washed, and I hone them after every use."

Jutting her chin in the direction of his cutting board, she says, "There is an easier way to do that."

She washes her hands and comes over and fits his fingers around the grip of the big chef's knife properly. With her hand over his guiding him, she explains, "The tip of the blade should never leave the cutting board, it's curved to rock so you can rapidly raise and lower the blade as you slide the food through."

While she's been talking, Lucas has somehow managed to bring his index finger up on the back of the blade. For some reason he feels like he has more control of it that way, but right away, Josie corrects him.

"Take your finger off the spine," she says. "That's three thirty-seconds of an inch of hand-forged, high-carbon, stainless steel. It's plenty strong enough without your support. Besides, you put a lot of strain on your hand and wrist holding it that way. It's not a natural position and the tendency is to push the blade down with the index finger."

"You know, I was getting it done faster my way," Lucas points out.

"That's where practice comes in," she tells him. "Curl the fingers of your left hand under to keep them out of the way of the blade. Good."

Josie is a patient teacher and even manages despite the language barrier to give Alexei a lesson on the proper way to cube potatoes for boiling. The whole afternoon is bizarrely domestic and somehow strangely comforting so that even in the midst of a mission gone to hell, Lucas is able to feel safe and calm for a brief while.

Unstuffed pork chops, it turns out, are just regular finger-thick chops fanned out across the roaster like a hand of cards with a bit of dressing between the chops. It's not as much meat per serving as a stuffed pork chop, but Lucas happens to agree with Josie that a whole stuffed chop is an obscene and unhealthy amount of meat for one person to eat in a single sitting. Dump cake, is, as its name implies, a bunch of ingredients – tinned cherry pie filling, tinned pineapple chunks, dry cake mix, coconut, and butter – dumped together and spread out to fill a cake pan.

Finally, everything is ready and sitting in the fridge, waiting to go on the stove or in the oven. With four hours left until they call Harry, Josie looks at Lucas and says, "I think I have a plan. Are you going to be reasonable and listen to me, or are you going to be mule-stubborn and behave as if I have nothing to contribute?"

Lucas sighs. "I don't want to involve you, because I don't want to see you get hurt," he says. "It's my duty to protect Alexei. If things get ugly, I can't look after you, too."

"I'm not asking you to," Josie responds glibly.

"That doesn't stop me from wanting to." Feeling a bit foolish, Lucas smiles. He hadn't realized he felt that way until he heard the words coming out of his mouth. He is relieved to see her blush and hopes that is enough to distract her from his own awkwardness.

Of course, even embarrassment doesn't slow her down for long.

"I'm perfectly capable of defending myself," she says. "I handled the two of you all right last night. If you don't want my help…"

"If you would let me finish!" Lucas raises his voice to talk over her. When she trails off, he says, "Remind me, who was lecturing whom about listening?"

Josie just sticks her tongue out at him.

Lucas smirks.

"You have had your way about everything since Alexei and I got into your car," he tells her. "Yet you call me stubborn. Still it seems a waste of energy to fight you right now, so I will hear what you have to say. Just so long as you understand that it is not a promise to follow through on any of your ideas."

Josie nods. "Understood."

_AT LEAST, _LUCAS THINKS, _I am mature enough to recognize that I am being childish._ That doesn't stop him from resenting Josie for her thorough and well thought-out plan or from berating himself for resenting her.

_I should be pleased that she has worked everything out for me,_ he tells himself, _but bloody hell! If a schoolteacher can do my job, what am I being paid for? I know I'm being petty, but I'd feel a lot better if I could find just one flaw in her plan._

"All right," he finally concedes. "You sell it to Harry, and we'll do it; but if we get into trouble in the field, I'm in charge, got it?"

"Sorry, no, can't make that promise," Josie tells him sounding almost cheerful about it.

Lucas sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. As he does, he realizes for the first time that he is developing a monster of a headache. He initially writes it off to fatigue, but then decides he's being too generous.

"You know, I think I'm beginning to see why you're still single," he tells her. "You always have to get your way, don't you?"

"Only when I'm in the right," she says, leaning first to the right and then to the left stretching her arms over her head. "Which is most of the time."

He scoffs, but he can't actually bring himself to doubt her, because in his experience so far, it's true.

"Admit it, you love having a woman who will stand up to you," she teases, stretching both arms above her head and arching her back.

"Not as much as you might think," he says. _It's bad enough that she's done my job for me, _he thinks, _but that fidgeting is getting bloody annoying. _

"Look, I'm responsible for getting Alexei and his family safely to the UK," he tries to explain calmly, but even he can hear his irritation slipping through. "If it comes down to having to fight or flee for our lives, I have to be the one to make that decision."

"Fine, I can go with that," she says easily as she pulls her right knee in towards her chest and stretches her left leg out, "but if you pick the wrong place to make a stand or run in the wrong direction, I'm going to correct you. Think about it this way, what if someone sitting out there…" She points to the cornfield thirty yards south of the living room window and switches legs, "…were setting up a grenade launcher to take us out. What would you have us do?"

"Get out of the bloody house," Lucas says immediately. "If the shrapnel didn't get us, there is every chance that an old wooden structure like this one will go up like a pile of tinder."

"So you would have us run out the back door and up the hill, yes?"

"Yes," he says firmly. "What else would we do?"

"Go into the basement," Josie tells him, pulling both knees to her chest and curling up in a ball.

"Oh, yes, brilliant, so they can blow it up and bury us alive or burn it down and roast us, of course," he sneers. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Smirking, she tells him, "Because you don't know about the old tunnel that runs from the cellar to the calf shed behind the barn."

Lucas sulks for a moment.

"I'd like to take you skulking through the London underground," he mutters. "See how confident you are when you have to cross the city via disused tube stations."

She chuckles and starts her calisthenics again.

"So, are we agreed? You decide what we need to do, I advise you on how to do it properly?"

"Agreed," he answers with a nod.

"And my plan?" she asks, stretching to the side with a grimace. "You'll tell your boss you think you should go with it?"

"As long as he doesn't see any problems with it," Lucas concedes.

"Fine. Thank you," she says. "Now, since we have three hours before we need to call your boss, I'm going to be a terribly rude hostess and tell you gentlemen that you'll have to entertain yourselves while I soak in the bath, read a trashy novel, and sip cheap wine."

She stands and stretches her back once more, cries out in pain, and hunches over, grabbing the small of her back.

"Shit! I think I'm in trouble now," she gasps.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	11. Comfort and Conflict

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Ten: Comfort and Conflict_

"JOSIE!" LUCAS SHOUTS, and before he knows what he is doing, he is crouched beside her, supporting her and rubbing her back.

"I'm ok," she pants. "Just back spasms. Felt them sneaking up on me."

"That's why you were stretching," Lucas realizes, and feels like a right arse for being so annoyed by it earlier. When he sees a worried Alexei kneeling beside her on the other side, he translates.

"Come on, sit," he urges.

"No!" she yelps as he tries to guide her back into her chair. "Ohhh, no, no, no. I'm not moving. Not yet."

"Then what can we do to help?" he demands anxiously.

"Ummm, something to lean on would be great," she gasps. "As much as it hurts to move, hunching over like this is killing me, too."

"_Get a chair from the dining room,_" Lucas instructs Alexei. "_She needs something to lean on."_

Alexei nods and hurries off.

"Alexei is getting you something," he says. "What else?"

"I keep a heating pad stuffed down behind the couch on the side next to the stereo," she tells him in a shaky voice. "If you could maybe get that and plug it in over here?"

He moves to do as she asks, and she begins to yelp, "Oh, oh, oh! Not yet!"

Realizing that she needs the support he is giving her, he stays there until Alexei arrives. Then, while he helps her position the chair so she can fold her arms across the back of it and rest her head on them, he has Alexei get the heating pad.

"What else?"

"Medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom," she gasps. "There's a tube of muscle rub. I hate to ask, but…"

"Don't worry about it," Lucas says. "After what you did for me last night, I'm happy to help."

Making sure she is stable leaning against the chair, Lucas rushes to the loo and back. In the living room, he gently slides her top up and sees an ugly scar nearly eight inches long running down her spine.

"My God! What happened to you?"

"Accident, about eight years ago," she says, her voice taking on a distinct whine. "I had a nasty fall that required emergency surgery to stabilize three fractured vertebrae. Ninety percent of the time I'm fine, now, but ten days of standing on the concrete floor in the concession stand didn't do me any favours."

"Where do you want me to put this stuff?" Lucas asks as he takes the cap off the liniment. It has a sharp, wintergreen smell that is not entirely unpleasant.

"From the waistband of my undies up to the bottom of my bra on both sides of my spine all the way round to my sides, if you don't mind."

Lucas doesn't mind at all. He meant what he said about being happy to help, but he also quite likes touching her skin. Despite the surgical scar and several other marks that he assumes are from the same fall, it's soft and smooth and warm, and he can see the muscles rippling under her skin as she breathes. Then he sees one particular spot bunch up and hears her agonized moan.

"Sorry!" he yelps and pulls his hand away afraid that he has somehow hurt her. "Oh, God, I'm sorry!"

She gives a wry chuckle. "Don't be. It wasn't you."

"Would it help if I massaged the muscles?" he offers.

"No!" she barks, then, more calmly, "No, it's too tense right now. A massage would only hurt worse. What you were doing was perfect."

Alexei is standing beside her, looking worried and uncertain.

"May I explain to Alexei what is happening?" Lucas asks.

"Suuuurrrre," she agrees, stretching the word into a moan as Lucas passes his hand over the knotted up muscles again. He's pretty certain it's a sound of relief rather than pain. "Why would you even think you needed to ask?"

"Just, well, it's medical history, is all," he said. "Some people like to keep that private."

"Mmmmmmmm," she hums, and he can see the tension starting to release under his hands. "It's fine," she says. "If I had a history of STDs or drug abuse or something else that carries a stigma, maybe, but this was just a fall."

As he talks with Alexei, he can feel Josie relaxing under his touch and hear her regular sighs and moans of relief. He can't help but think those sounds would be even more delightful, and just a bit dirty, in another situation, but he quickly shies away from the idea that's lurking round the edges of his mind. Now is not the proper time and place, and given the current circumstances, there probably never will be a proper time and place for those thoughts. Gradually Josie's breathing slows and deepens, and finally, very carefully and with a loud groan, she straightens up.

"Could you move the chair and put the heating pad down on the floor in front of me?" she requests.

Lucas tells Alexei to take the chair back to the dining room while he takes care of the heating pad. Then, following Josie's directions, he helps her get down on the floor and position herself flat on her back on the heating pad with her knees up. She's lying there, eyes closed and breathing deeply when Alexei returns, and when he asks a question, Lucas translates.

"What would you have done if we hadn't been here to help you?"

She gives a soft laugh and says, "If you hadn't been here, this very likely would not have happened. When I felt the first twinges, I'd have lain down and done these stretches or got into a hot bath and likely avoided the spasms altogether."

"_Is there anything more we can do for her?_" Alexei asks after Lucas has translated her answer.

"_I seriously doubt it,_" Lucas replies. "_It looks like she's been through this before and knows exactly what to do. I'm sure she'll tell us if she needs anything._"

Josie has gone from deep breathing to a series of weird-looking undulating stretches that make Lucas think of an earthworm because of the way they seem to lengthen and shorten her spine. The fact that earthworms don't have spines doesn't seem relevant.

"_Perhaps you should ask her anyway, just to be sure_," Alexei says. "_I feel terrible that she is in such pain because she was kind enough to help us, and she may not wish to impose._"

"_I feel the same way, mate,_" Lucas admits, "_but when does helping become intruding?_"

"_It cannot hurt simply to ask_," Alexei insists.

Just as Lucas is about to translate Alexei's inquiry, Josie opens her eyes.

"Hey!" she barks, sounding stern almost to the point of being angry. "You two do not get to feel guilty about this. It was my own pig-headed stubbornness that did this to me. I wanted to win my argument with you, Lucas."

Lucas can't help dipping his head in embarrassment.

"Oh, for God's sake," she grumbles. "Lucas, look at me."

He does as he's told. He doesn't want to upset her and cause her more pain.

"I could have walked away, done some stretches, had a hot bath, and come back," she says. "But sometimes, I am like a dog with a bone. I just can't let go, and, let's be honest, I did win," she finishes with a smirk.

Lucas smirks back. "I rather think we reached a consensus."

"I got what I wanted," Josie told him. "That means I won."

She has moved into an exercise that looks a bit like an abdominal crunch.

"So, really, what would you have done if you'd been alone when this happened?" Lucas asks, deliberately changing the subject. She seems so fiercely independent he can't help but wonder how she manages on her own when an attack hits.

"I'd get past my fear of the pain and just do what I had to do to deal with it," she says. "It would depend on what I felt would work best at the time. I'd get into a hot shower or use the muscle rub or I have some prescription muscle relaxants I could take. Eventually, I'd end up right here doing this."

"So, it can't be fixed?" Lucas asks.

"I've had three separate surgeries on my back," she says. "The first one was an emergency procedure and couldn't be avoided, the other two were supposed to fix degenerating discs, but at best, they did nothing, at worst, they did more harm than good. The only thing I have found that really helps prevent it is these exercises and a long, restful soak in a hot bath when my body tells me it's had enough.

"Now, if the two of you would help me up, I think I'll go upstairs for that bath now," she says.

"DO YOU NEED HELP GETTING INTO THE BATH?" Lucas asks when he and Alexei get Josie to her room, which happens to be opposite Lucas's at the top of the stairs.

"No, thank you," she replies. "I'm good from here."

The two men watch her creep painfully into the en suite bathroom to start running her bath.

"_You should stay_," Alexei tells him as they turn to leave.

"_I asked her if she needed help,_" Lucas says. "_She said she was fine_."

"_Which, obviously, she is not,_" Alexei observes.

Lucas can't disagree. Out in the hallway now, he says, "_We should respect her wishes_."

"_She likes you, my friend_," Alexei grins. "_I can't even speak the language and I can tell that she wishes you to stay._"

"_Then why did she tell me to go?_" Lucas demands.

Alexei shrugs. "_She is a woman. If I knew the answer to your question, I would write a book and live a wealthy man_," he jokes_. _"_Perhaps she just wants to know if you like her enough to defy her wishes to do what is best for her._"

"_What makes you so sure she likes me?"_ Lucas asks.

Alexei shrugs again. "_Because last night, she ignored your wishes to do what was right for you. Besides, even a blind man can see the attraction between you."_

Lucas scowls. It annoys him that he is so transparent to the Russian, and after the debacle with Sarah Caulfield, it worries him that he might just be setting himself up for another painful fall.

"_We're only going to be here a few days_," he mutters.

"_So, enjoy it while it lasts,_" Alexei encourages him. "_She is no child. She understands. She still wants you as much as you want her._"

"_You realize, she is our only help now that things have gone wrong," _Lucas reminds him. "_If I piss her off…_"

"_On my head be it,_" Alexei interrupts with a grin.

"_All right then,_" Lucas finally surrenders. "_And you get to explain to my boss if she decides to report us to the local authorities_."

Alexei just laughs. "_I would wish you luck, but I do not think you will need it._"

WHEN LUCAS WALKS INTO THE BEDROOM, he can see Josie through the half-open bathroom door. She is gingerly trying to get her blouse off, so clearly intent on removing it with as little pain as possible that she doesn't even seem to hear him enter.

"Let me help," he says taking hold of the collar of her blouse to help her out of it.

She startles slightly, and the small jump makes her cringe in pain. Lucas winces in sympathy.

"Sorry, I should have knocked," he says. "May I?"

"Please," she gasps.

Very carefully, he peels the pink cotton blouse off her and lets it slide down her arms. For a moment, he looks around, unsure what to do with it, and then she tells him, "There are hooks on the back of the door."

He closes the door and hangs up the blouse, then he turns toward her again. He is standing behind her, both of them facing the mirror above the sink, and he notices a dozen or so small scars randomly located on her back. He traces his finger over one of them and then another, fascinated by them. He notices her shiver and stops.

"What did you land on?" he asks. "When you fell?"

"Shrubbery," she tells him with a faint chuckle. "A colleague was having a rare, hallucinogenic reaction to a fairly ordinary antibiotic his doctor had prescribed for a minor skin infection. He thought I was a suicide bomber wearing a vest full of C-4 about to blow up him and a number of other people he imagined to be in the room with him. He stopped me with a flying tackle that sent us both through a second-storey window to the bushes below.

"At least, that's how it appears on the security tape," she continues. "I don't really remember anything between my second cup of coffee that morning and waking up in the hospital two days after the fact."

"You didn't remember the incident that broke your back, so you watched video of it?" Lucas asks, wanting to clarify.

"Yeah."

"Why on earth would you do something like that?" He catches her eye in the mirror. Something about her attitude intrigues him. He thinks if it were him, he'd just as soon not know.

She shrugs, winces, grimaces sheepishly at him in the mirror. "Morbid curiosity, I suppose."

The grimace warps into a smirk and Lucas can't resist responding with a lopsided grin of his own.

"You are bloody mad, you know that?"

She chuckles. "I've been called worse. Really, I was missing two days and I was badly injured," she explains. "I needed to understand to make it real and not some kind of Kafkaesque nightmare."

He holds her gaze in the mirror for a moment and she reveals to him a sorrow he hasn't seen in her before. He rather suspects the emotional trauma was worse and longer-lasting than the physical injuries. Emotional trauma is something he can understand. He gives her a nod to let her know he gets it, and she smiles back at him.

"Could you, uh, unhook my bra?" she asks.

Lucas feels almost too big and very clumsy as he fumbles with the tiny hooks and delicate fabric in the centre of her back. After several moments he notices her starting to tremble.

"Cold?" he asks.

"No," she answers in a choked little voice.

"Well, what's the matter, then?"

"Nothing," she says.

He looks at her reflection in the mirror and can tell that she is trying very hard to control her expression. Then he catches her eye and she breaks into a grin and begins to giggle.

"What's so funny?" he asks, grinning himself because he's relieved to know he is not causing her further pain.

"I just would have thought a man like you would have had ample opportunity to practice removing ladies' undergarments," she says.

Lucas scowls when he feels the warmth of a blush heat his cheeks. He is already looking forward to getting her out of the infernal thing far more than might be appropriate for someone trying to care for an injured woman, and her comment makes him feel positively lecherous.

"Actually, I've always been a bit too shy to see much in the way of that kind of opportunity," he says, which is true for the most part.

She sighs, "More's the pity," and chuckles again.

Lucas finally manages to unfasten the bra and slides the straps down over her shoulders. Her breasts are round and full with rosy nipples, and he has to remind himself not to touch them. Then, in the reflection in the mirror, he sees another silvery-pink scar on her ribcage, and before he can think about being shy or polite, he strokes his index finger lightly over it.

"Sorry," he apologizes when she shivers at his touch, but when he tries to draw his hand away, she catches it and holds it against her skin with both hands. Lucas goes very still. He's happy to give her whatever she wants, but he doesn't want to do anything inappropriate under the circumstances.

"It's ok," she tells him in a husky voice. "I broke a couple of ribs in the fall. They caused some internal bleeding, which led to a haemothorax. The doctors had to insert a tube up into my chest to drain the blood so my lungs could expand."

"Ouch," Lucas mutters in sympathy.-

"Oh, I didn't feel it, at least not that I remember," she says, interlacing the fingers of her left hand with his right so that he is halfway hugging her. "It was weird waking up and having it there, though, and having it removed was not pleasant; but it never really hurt."

"What happened to the guy who assaulted you?" Lucas asks.

"He walked away with a few scratches on his face from the shrubbery and started trying to evacuate the area as soon as he realized that my suicide vest never exploded," she chuckles.

"You're not the least bit angry or bitter about it, are you?" he asks, amazed that someone could be so relaxed about such a life-changing event.

"What's to be angry about?" she asks, leaning back into his embrace and resting her head against his shoulder. "There was no malice or criminal intent, no negligence or medical malpractice. It was just one of those days when shit happened, and I was in its way."

"Not even the tiniest bit of resentment for the guy who walked away unscathed?" Lucas pushes. He can't accept that she just took it all in stride.

"No," she says with a shake of her head. "As a matter of fact, I'm sort of proud of him."

"Proud of him?" Lucas can't hide his disbelief. "Really?"

"Yeah. Being wrong about the threat doesn't make his actions any less courageous," she explains. "He thought he was leaping to a certain death in order to save a group of innocents. If he had been right, he'd have died a hero."

"Mad as a March hare," Lucas tuts, shaking his head.

When she leans her head back against him and smiles up at him, he can't resist dropping a quick kiss on her forehead.

"I am still alive and still walking," Josie tells him patiently. "I may take a little more Tylenol than most people my age, but as long as I pay attention to the warning signs my body sends me, I don't have too much pain. My biggest regret about what happened to me is that I lost a friend because of it, not because I am angry with him, but because he feels so guilty over it that he finds it hard to be around me. If I could change it and make it so it never happened, yes, I would, but I can't, so I'm not going to waste my energy brooding about something that was nobody's fault and can't be undone."

She has been encouraging physical contact all along, and emboldened, Lucas reaches up and caresses the her cheek with the back of his hand.

"You know, that's a very British attitude," he says.

"Stiff upper lip and soldier on, you mean?" She takes his hand and pulls it down to her waist so he has both arms around her now.

"Something like that," he agrees.

"Well, I'm glad you approve," she smirks. "At least one person out there in the world at large will know that not all Americans are soft and lazy."

Then she guides his hands to the button on her jeans. "Much as I am enjoying the conversation, I really do need to soak in the tub or I will be too stiff and sore to bend over and tie my own shoes come morning."

"Right," Lucas agrees, consciously having to avoid a sigh, and he crouches down to remove her shoes and socks first.

JOSIE SPENDS ONLY ABOUT HALF AN HOUR IN THE BATH. Unlike Lucas the previous evening, she is in no danger of nodding off, so he has no excuse to sit with her. Instead, he waits for her in the bedroom, which is the twin to his except that it is done in greens and golds, the books on the shelf are different, and there is a lady's dressing table instead of a chest of drawers. He's just getting into _The Master of Ballantrae _when Josie calls out for him to come help her out of the tub.

He holds open a fluffy yellow robe for her, and when she wraps it around herself and belts it at her waist, it swallows her up. Then he takes her out to the bedroom and has her sit on the bed while he dries her feet and legs and applies lotion for her. Her feet, he notices, are baby soft and her legs are tanned, slim, and athletic. He helps her into her jeans, socks and shoes, and then leaves her to finish dressing in private.

Down in the living room, Alexei greets him with a smug grin. "_And so I was right,_" he teases. "_She did wish you to stay_."

"_Shut up,_" Lucas snarls.

"_Oh, do not be disheartened,_" Alexei continues taunting. "_I am sure her back will feel better before we must leave_."

Lucas scowls at him but does not otherwise respond. He knows he is being sullen, and he doesn't care. For the first time since he was returned to the UK, he wishes he was just a bloke who could do what he wanted with whom he wanted, when and where and for as long as he wanted without having to worry about defending the realm or not breaking the neck of a bloody cheeky Russian. He likes Josie, a lot, and he wishes he could have the opportunity to just see what developed between them. For a fleeting moment, he wonders what would happen if he took Alexei to the extraction point and just put him on the helicopter by himself.

Then he shakes his head. It will never happen. He knows himself too well.

He has brought _The Master of Ballantrae _downstairs with him, so he just slumps into an armchair, puts his feet up on the matching stool, and resumes reading.

JOSIE FINALLY COMES DOWN THE STAIRS about half an hour before they are due to call harry. She seems cheerful enough, but she is moving with obvious care. Lucas is glad to see her. He needs to talk to her. Before she can say or do anything, he is guiding her off into the hall.

"Where is my laptop?" he asks.

She eyes him warily. "Safe. Why?"

"You need to get it."

"Again, I ask, why?" She turns from him and walks toward the kitchen.

"That coded message I gave you for Harry, _See you when we see you_, means a video chat," Lucas explains as he follows her down the hall.

"Well, then, he's going to be disappointed, isn't he?" Josie replies frostily, and Lucas knows he has pissed her off.

"And so will we if you try to contact him any other way," Lucas says. "It's a safeguard. Because I told him it would be a video chat, he won't accept any other form of communication from us."

"Now, I know that's bullshit," she snaps, getting an apple out of the fridge and a knife out of the drawer. "You must have an emergency line."

"Yeah, we do," Lucas says, "but the moment that starts ringing, we start tracking."

"Like they wouldn't be tracking a video chat, you mean?" she sneers.

"Alexei is a computer genius," Lucas reminds her. "Get him to route the call so it looks like it is coming from somewhere else."

She stops paring her apple for a moment to think.

"I'll have him rig my computer," she says.

"Won't work," he says. "You need special software. We don't use bloody Yahoo! Messenger, you know."

"No, but you're happy to use a computer that may have been compromised," she observes.

"Can't be," he says. "I haven't used it since our technician gave it to me almost a fortnight ago, so there's no chance that I picked up any malware."

"Which only means that if there is a problem, it came with you from your office," she says. "Or are you so confident in your colleagues' loyalty that you won't even entertain the possibility that one of them may have put a tracker on you?"

"Anyone can be turned," Lucas tells her, speaking with the voice of experience. "You just have to catch them when they're vulnerable and apply the right kind of pressure, but no one on my team is in that kind of position right now."

"Are you sure you'd know if they were?" she asks.

"It's my job to know," he says. "My life depends on it. Once burned, twice shy. I didn't spend eight years in a Russian prison because I was sloppy; I was betrayed. I won't let that happen again."

"And what kind of pressure did they apply to you?" she asks, sounding honestly curious.

"Every kind but the right kind, I guess," Lucas tells her.

It's only half a lie. Oleg broke him, but he was cold, hungry, and alone at the time and hanged himself rather than offering information for comfort and company. If Oleg had only questioned him the moment he cut him down, Lucas would have told him everything he knew. But then, that was the other half of turning a spy, catching them when they were vulnerable.

"You sit right there," Josie commands, snapping him back to the present and pointing him into one of the stools at the breakfast bar with her paring knife. "Put your hands on the countertop. Don't move, don't speak. I will rely on the phone app to translate for me."

Lucas does as he's told and tries to conceal how angry he is. He's angry with himself for lying to Josie last night even though he felt at the time that he needed to hold something back in case she proved to be untrustworthy. He's angry with her for mistrusting him now, even though he lied to her. He's angry with Alexei for encouraging him to pursue his interest in her because he'd dared to get his hopes up only to have them crushed by his own deceit, and he's angry with himself for listening to Alexei in the first place.

"Alexei!" Josie calls. "Phone!"

In the few seconds it takes for the Russian to join them in the kitchen, she goes to a drawer in the table underneath the house telephone and takes out a set of keys. It is clear from Alexei's expression the moment he enters the room that he can sense the tension between them.

"_You moron,_" he says to Lucas in disgust. "_How did you ruin things so fast_?"

Remembering Josie's admonition not to speak, Lucas just scowls at him and then looks away.

"Alexei, Lucas has made a mess of things. I need you to help me sort it," Josie says slowly for the phone to translate. She hands him the keys and says, "Lucas's backpack is in the trunk of my car. Bring it in, please."

Alexei frowns at the phone and shows the translation to Lucas. "_I don't understand,_" he says.

Lucas reads the display, smirks at Josie, and says smugly, "I told you before, it's called the _boot_."

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	12. Irresistible Force Meet Immovable Object

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Eleven: Irresistible Force, Meet Immovable Object_

IT DOESN'T TAKE LONG FOR ALEXEI TO RIG THE LAPTOP. Lucas is simultaneously pleased, impressed, and annoyed that Josie thinks to have him open up the computer's guts and look for a tracker before turning it on. Of course, there is one, he had it installed so Tariq could find him wherever he went; and of course, it was set to activate when the computer was turned on. She makes a show of crushing it with a brass elephant paperweight and dropping it into a glass of water, and Lucas scowls to hide his amusement. She's being melodramatic, and despite the fact that she is still clearly angry with him, he can't find it in himself to be fearful of her anymore. She's gone to such lengths to look after him that he can't believe she would harm him without good cause.

Per Josie's instructions, Alexei has arranged things so that the laptop will appear to log on from a dozen different locations within Williamsport and dozens more within ten to two hundred miles of the city. The dispersal pattern is as even as wireless internet service will allow with concentrations in major cities like Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and Harrisburg, and university towns such as State College, Lock Haven, Selinsgrove, Lewisburg, and Clarion. She has positioned the laptop on the desk in her den and closed the heavy blue drapes at the window behind her so that nothing can be seen of the outside world. Lucas and Alexei are sitting in chairs at opposite ends of the desk against oak-panelled walls from which she has removed all decoration. She has marked the desktop with tape so that, when Harry asks to see them, she can cover the webcam lens with her thumb, and turn the laptop to a predetermined position to let him satisfy himself that they are all right without giving him any indication whatsoever of the kind of room they are in, its location, or their relative position to each other. Next to the keyboard, strategically placed where it can't be seen by the camera, she has laid a sheet of paper with a list of talking points. She definitely has an agenda for this conversation, and Lucas has no doubt that she will hit every point before she is finished. Ruth has most certainly prepared Harry for the chat as well, and if she is not right by his side, Lucas is certain she will be off-screen cuing him as the conversation progresses.

Josie has even changed her clothes for the webcam conversation. Lucas can imagine she had intended to speak to Harry in her blue jeans, trainers, and that pink cotton blouse when she thought she would be talking on a cheap, pre-paid mobile phone, but now that he will be able to see her, she has gone for a tasteful olive-green suit. Her unruly curls have been tamed into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck and her fringe has been curled into a line across her forehead that follows the graceful curve of her brows. She has even done her makeup. It's a very professional look, but too stern for the warm, gregarious girl who served Lucas hotdogs at the ballpark. Now, she is a frigid, imposing woman who is clearly all business. Lucas can imagine her using this look to scare the shit out of her students on the first day of school, yet, somehow, for him, the thought of releasing those curls from that bun is suddenly the stuff of wild fantasies. Mortified by his own imagination, he has to fake a cough to cover an embarrassed laugh.

Lucas realizes he is looking forward to this virtual meeting between Josie and Harry a bit more than a man who is loyal to his boss and his country ought. Harry is used to being obeyed, and rightfully so, given his position in the Service. Josie is used to getting her way about things, and while that might make sense for a teacher dealing with children, he hasn't quite figured out how she has managed to do it with him except through sheer stubbornness. Being somewhat stubborn himself, Harry doesn't respond well to stubbornness. Since the moment Lucas climbed into her car, Josie hasn't backed down once. He rather imagines the conversation will be like a flash flood raging into a dammed-up canyon with no one to open the floodgates. Either the waters will stop or the dam will crumble. Josie is the flood, of course, and somehow, Lucas doesn't think Harry will be able to stop her.

Now Josie casts Lucas a stern look and says, "Not a word, not a _sound_, until I tell you, understood?"

Lucas is feeling a bit stubborn himself at the moment, so he only smirks and nods. She is a teacher used to dealing with adolescents; she should be able to cope with his obstinacy. She narrows her eyes at him but says nothing.

Turning to Alexei, she repeats her instructions.

He merely nods and replies, "_Da_."

Josie steeples her fingers, closes her eyes and takes two deep cleansing breaths. Then she clicks the icon that activates the video chat program. It takes a few moments for the computer to connect, and in that time she settles comfortably in her chair with an erect but relaxed posture that gives her the air of someone who is utterly confident that she is completely in charge. Lucas rather hopes Harry will make the same mistake he did in assuming a school teacher would be naïve to the particular dangers and challenges of his mission. If he does, watching her educate him will be most entertaining.

THE IMAGE OF HARRY, seated in his office, finally appears on the screen. It is a bit jittery at first, but soon stabilises. As Lucas expected, Ruth is hovering just over Harry's shoulder. The focus of the camera is tight enough that he can't tell if anyone else is in the room with them, but Lucas is sure that sooner or later, the rest of the team will be brought into the loop. After a moment, Harry seems to get a clear image of Josie because his gaze seems to focus.

"Hello, Uncle Harry," Josie greets him almost playfully. "I hope I may call you _Uncle_ Harry since your officer never supplied me with your proper name."

"Just Harry will do, Lieutenant Colonel Slater," he replies.

Lucas can't stop his eyebrows from shooting up in surprise. 'Lieutenant Colonel?' he mouths silently, and Josie ignores him completely.

"And may I call you Josanne?" Harry continues.

"No, I prefer to keep it formal for now," she says. "Colonel Slater, or just Colonel will do."

"Of course, Colonel," Harry agrees.

_Point for Josie,_ Lucas thinks. _She's got him calling her by her title while she's calling him by his Christian name. She's already got the higher ground._

The slight smile when Harry talks shows more of his teeth than usual and Lucas knows he is already annoyed.

_Still, he took it well,_ Lucas decides.

"I'll speak to my officer, now," Harry says, and while the tone is light, it is clearly a demand.

_Or maybe not,_ Lucas concludes. _A little please or thank you wouldn't go amiss if he thinks I am truly in danger._

"For the moment, you may ask him only yes or no questions," Josie says, "and you may inquire only about his wellbeing and your asset's health. After you and I have talked, I might let you speak at greater length."

Josie covers the camera lens and turns the laptop to face Lucas taking care to make sure it hits the tape marks on the desktop. Lucas is touched to see the permanent lines of worry between Harry's brows relax just a bit as the camera focuses on him and shows that he is well.

"Lucas, are you all right?" Harry asks immediately, and there is genuine concern in his tone.

Being deliberately difficult, Lucas looks to Josie. His mischief doesn't faze her. She keeps her tone and her expression stern and says, "You may answer him."

"Yes," he replies.

Harry gives the faintest of sighs and the vaguest twitch of something that might have been a smile if he had allowed it to grow to maturity. While he hasn't scored a blow against Josie, the relief of knowing his officer is fit and well would give him a small psychological boost, so Lucas awards him a point.

"Have you been injured in any way?"

"No." He doesn't count the cut on his neck from last night. He really _has_ had worse shaving.

"Have you been given the opportunity to eat, drink, wash, and rest?" Harry asks.

"Yes, yes, yes, and yes."

"And is Pomelnikov all right, too?"

"Yes."

"Has he suffered any injuries?"

"No."

"Has he received the same hospitality as you?"

"Yes."

"Colonel, I'd like to see Mr. Pomelnikov now, please," Harry requests.

_Now he's courteous,_ Lucas thinks sarcastically. Then he realizes, _Maybe he really was worried for my safety. Too worried for basic courtesy like _please_ and _thank you_? Of course, his talk with me has established the kind of person she is and he now knows that he needn't worry about her harming either of us just for the hell of it. Harry two, Josie one. What service made her a Lieutenant Colonel anyway?_

As she turns the laptop so Harry can see Alexei, Josie says, "I have to admit, Harry, I am a bit surprised by your concern for your officer's continued good health. I would have expected somebody who sends his man into a foreign country under false pretences, with a backpack full of fake IDs, four illegally concealed weapons, and no backup to be more…indifferent."

_If you'd have talked to me about your plan for handling Harry, I could have told you not to bother going there_, Lucas thinks. _Sir Harry Pearce is one cold bastard when he needs to be. He cares about his people, which is why he has our loyalty, but when it comes right down to it, we are all expendable, even Harry, himself. That's what makes him great at what he does._

"May I have one of my officers who speaks Russian ask Mr. Pomelnikov about his condition?" Harry asks, ignoring her barb. Lucas figures that is another point in Harry's favour.

Josie considers the request, but finally decides, "No, I don't speak Russian."

_Then again, she did just make her point about all the flaws in the plan. He can't have taken that well._ Lucas imagines the faint tightening around Harry's eyes that always happens when he realises he's made a mistake, and decides to award Josie a point for reminding him of his human fallibility.

"I would have no way of knowing if you are dealing honestly with me. Besides, your officer has already verified that he has…"

_Who are you to talk about dealing honestly, _Lieutenant Colonel_ Slater_? Lucas thinks bitterly. He doesn't know whether to be hurt that she lied to him, horrified that he let his guard down so completely, or understanding that she was just doing what any good soldier would do by keeping back information that would give her a tactical advantage in a potentially dangerous situation.

That sick feeling that he has once again been played for a fool by yet another woman returns suddenly. Immediately, his instincts tell him he is wrong and that she was sincere in her kindness toward him. Then his logical mind responds that his instincts have been wrong before. Then the part of him that really wants to be right about her remembers that their meeting was too coincidental to be part of an organized plot.

_Christ! Alexei is right. You want her,_ he berates himself. _Worse than that, you want her to want you. _

"…and bathe. The two of them have been allowed to move about and converse freely, and I know your officer is fluent in Russian. If your asset had any special concerns that needed attention, he should have mentioned them."

Lucas has missed part of the conversation while he was lost in thought but in the bit he heard, Josie has established that she has specific knowledge about his skill set and that he and Alexei have not been subject to any particularly stringent security measures. He has to award Josie two more points. It would appear that the lead is changing hands with every exchange. Harry is doing better than Lucas expected.

Josie has turned the laptop back to face her. Lucas can again see Harry's face obliquely on the monitor. He needs to pay attention and make sure he doesn't miss anything else that might be important.

"You know, if you had given me your final rank instead of sending greetings from Major Slater, it would have been easier to verify your identity," Harry says when the camera focuses on Josie again.

It's a point for Harry, telling her that her little trick didn't work.

"Lieutenant Colonel was a consolation prize granted me when I was forced out of the service," Josie replies. "Major is the last rank at which I actually served. Besides, I wanted to keep you busy. Make sure the British taxpayers get their money's worth out of you."

And that's a point for Josie, whether she knows it or not. The Security Services budget is always notoriously tight and Harry hates having to go hat in hand to the budgeting committee every year.

"Ah, yes, and how is the back, Colonel?"

Harry's deliberately bland look as he asks the snidely polite question is a dead giveaway to Lucas that Josie is annoying the shit out of him and he is trying to get a bit of his own back by provoking her. _Careful, boss,_ he thinks with slight amusement, _if she senses the slightest crack in the façade, she will chip away at it until it shatters. Can't give you a point for that, either, because I know for a fact she's made her peace with it._

"Oh, Harry, if you only would have had the time to read my file, you would know the answer to that," Josie says.

_Oh, you are clever, aren't you, love? _Lucas thinks as he suddenly realises she is attacking the same weakness in Harry that she had seen in him the previous night when they were discussing backup, sleeper agents, and the Security Services' lack of resources and personnel to do their jobs properly abroad. Naturally, as the man in charge, Harry will be cut more deeply by her insults.

"As it is, the fact that I am chatting with you on your officer's laptop while he sits obediently to my right _keeping his mouth shut_ should answer your question," Josie continues.

_That's two points for Josie, _Lucas decides. _Another shot at our lack of resources and rubbing his nose in the fact that she's quite fit despite her injury. Harry is doing a good job of maintaining his cool_, _but by the way he's pursing his lips, I know she's getting to him. I wonder if Josie recognizes the signals as well._

Harry's eyes flicker upward the tiniest bit for the briefest fraction of a second.

"And if that was your technician just popping in to tell you that he can't track me, it's because your asset gutted the laptop at my request and I have destroyed the tracker," Josie tells him smugly, moving the glass of water holding the crushed tracking chip into the frame. "And if he hasn't already done so, in a few minutes, he will be telling you that this video chat is being routed through dozens of different servers across the state of Pennsylvania and he has no idea where in the hell I am or how to find me."

Harry offers her a smirk that is not even remotely amused. _Another point to Josie._

"Now that the preliminaries are over, I'll leave you to puzzle out on your own time how and why your officer _and_ your asset have elected to do my bidding despite the fact that they have been treated well, have not been harmed, and are under no threat of harm," Josie continues, and Lucas can tell she is deliberately winding Harry up. "Right here and now, I think we should get down to business."

Harry covers his mouth with his hand and spends a moment apparently deep in thought. As he mulls over what to do, his eyes move almost imperceptibly to the left and right. The gesture tells Lucas that Dimitri and Beth are probably in the room, perhaps even Tariq, too; but it's subtle enough that Josie might not notice it or will take it for part of Harry's thinking behaviour if she does.

"What do you want?" he finally asks in resignation giving off a definite air of surrender. Lucas knows it is only an act, but it's a good one, and it deserves a point.

_Well, he hasn't lost his temper yet,_ Lucas thinks, _but then, they've barely said hello. With a score of eight to five, round one definitely goes to Josie._

* * *

"I DO BELIEVE, HARRY, that you and I want almost exactly the same thing," Josie says.

"Forgive me if I seem sceptical," Harry grumbles a bit sarcastically. Lucas doesn't award Josie any points for it, though. That's just Harry being Harry. He's resigned himself listening to her, but he doesn't care if she knows he's not happy to do it.

"Well, why don't I tell you what I want, and we'll just see how close we are to an agreement?"

"If you must," Harry sighs, leans back in his chair, and rests his cheek against his palm.

Lucas grudgingly gives him a point. It's far from a brilliant comeback, but he manages the bored, indifferent, put-upon tone so perfectly that it makes Josie look like a rank amateur.

"Of course, if you don't have the time for me, I could just call the local police and let them sort it out," Josie tells him as she reaches for the keyboard as if to terminate the video chat.

Harry sits up so quickly his chair squeaks. It's a point for Josie. There isn't much he wouldn't do or agree to, to keep the local plods out of this operation.

"What did you have in mind?" he asks almost cordially.

"I thought as much," Josie smirks.

Lucas decides that smug confidence is worth a point, and Josie is ahead again.

"Well, first, I want your officer to make it safely back to the UK," Josie begins. "He is clever and charming and devastatingly handsome, but I can't really afford to start taking in strays, so sending him home seems the kindest thing to do."

Lucas is amused by her singing his praises until Harry rolls his eyes and Ruth starts to smirk. Then he is suddenly embarrassed. As he feels the flush start to heat his cheeks, he's glad that he is out of range of the camera.

"Second, I want to see Mr. Pomelnikov and his family find a safe and happy home free from the spectre of the Russian mob," she continues in a slightly melodramatic fashion. "He has told me that he is with your officer voluntarily, which is the only reason I have bothered dealing with you."

"I thought you said you don't speak Russian," Harry cuts in.

"I don't," Josie replies. "I have a friend who does."

Harry blanches, and Lucas awards Josie another point. It's not necessarily a lie, but Harry's bound to infer the wrong thing from it, and not knowing what or how much her 'friend' has been told puts him in a very awkward position. In addition to the mole and Josie, he now has to consider a third, random player who may or may not expose the mission. Just a little more pressure, and he will have to cave to Josie's demands or risk the whole thing blowing up in his face.

"Third, I understand that Mr. Pomelnikov has some data you want," Josie states when Harry has nothing more to say. "I really don't care who gets it. Gangsters are like cockroaches and there are more already waiting to take the place of those you plan to stop. So, getting the data to you isn't my priority, but it seems that it will happen in the natural order of things. That alone should encourage you to work with me."

"It certainly is a point in your favour," Harry agrees, "assuming I believe you."

"I don't see as you have much choice," Josie retorts in a superior tone, and when Harry's lips twitch, Lucas grants her another point.

"Fourth, you have a mole in your operation, which is why your officer and his charge came under my protection," Josie continues. She has her list of points to make and will not be diverted. "Your officer is confident that it isn't you who betrayed him, or the lovely woman behind you, or any of the two or three people off camera there in your office."

Harry scowls. Lucas is surprised. Josie must be supremely confident to make that assumption. As far as he can tell, Harry has only glanced round the room one time, and Lucas was sure Josie would have taken it for a thinking action. It's a bold move, and the simple fact that Harry doesn't turn the camera to show her she's wrong proves that she's right. It definitely earns Josie a point.

"Since your mole is responsible for the people taking shots at _me_ last night, I want to help you catch him. Since my government has insisted on deniability in this op, and since prosecuting him would expose me to certain criminal charges, I'll gladly send him along to the UK with your officer and Mr. Pomelnikov."

"You do realize that you have just offered to participate in an international kidnap conspiracy, don't you?" Harry asks.

"I do," Josie confirms. "We'll talk about that later."

Lucas suppresses a smirk as Harry makes his expression go blank. There's that arrogant confidence again, that bloody, bull-headed determination that she will get her way. Lucas loves it. Harry clearly does not. Lucas has lost track of the score, but it would surely be another point for her if he were still keeping it.

"Fifth, our school security is subcontracted to the local police," Josie says. "I'm good friends with some of those officers, even trained a couple of them during my time in the service. I can get someone who is above reproach to sit with Mrs. Pomelnikov and her son. This will ensure their safety, just in case your mole is anywhere close to them."

"And now, we not only have to trust you, but also some local copper we trust by proxy through you," Harry says. "Do you see where I might have a problem with this?"

"You sent your officer on a covert op on foreign soil with no backup to retrieve data your ally doesn't even want to touch," Josie replies. "No, I don't see where you'd have a problem with second-hand trust."

Harry scowls. She's questioning his judgment. Lucas knows that has to hurt. Even worse, she's right. It doesn't matter that they had no choice. Harry is still Head of Section D, and in retrospect, he should have provided Lucas with backup or an alternate exit strategy or something.

"Sixth, and this one is quite near and dear to my heart, so do pay attention," Josie forges ahead without giving Harry another chance to interrupt. "We have to devise an explanation for Mr. Pomelnikov's disappearance that _does not_ involve him becoming the victim of criminal violence in my city. I have an idea to take care of that, which we can discuss later."

"Seventh and finally, I want five million dollars, US, deposited into a Swiss bank account in my name."

Harry tries to protest, but Josie keeps talking right over him.

"I will contact you with the account details later, and make no mistake, Harry, you can accept my terms or reject them, it makes no difference to me; but if anything happens to me or if I am criminally prosecuted, all of the documents your officer had on him, as well as his illegal weapons with his prints all over them, and the new identities for Mr. Pomelnikov and his family will find their way to the press and the police. Someone will have to explain to the world why the British government was using a bunch of innocent little boys to cover up some seedy international intrigue, and, unless you renege on your promise of deniability to the powers that be in my government, you will have to admit that your officer was conducting an illegal operation on U.S. soil."

"You must be joking," Harry scoffs. "This isn't some bloody James Bond film."

"No, it's my life," Josie tells him, "and you can bet yours that I'll do what I can to protect it when I'm offering to risk it to help you.

"Read my file, Harry," she adds in a threatening tone. "You know I have the ability and connections to do everything I've promised. This is an all-or-nothing deal. There will be no negotiation. You give me everything I've asked for, or God knows what will become of your officer and his asset.

"I'll call you back in twenty-four hours," Josie says, "and in case you're wondering, that's twenty-four real hours. I'm not speaking code."

She grabs the mouse and ends the video chat before Harry has a chance to protest.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	13. Into the Ordinary

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Twelve: Into the Ordinary_

"WELL, THAT WAS ENTERTAINING," Josie says gleefully to Lucas. "Your boss has quite the temper, but he controls it remarkably well, doesn't he?"

Silence fills the space between them like bricks. Lucas feels as if he's been kicked in the chest. It actually hurts in the place where his heart is beating, and it's hard for him to breathe. He can't believe he's been used again. Alexei shifts uncomfortably in his seat, mutters something Lucas doesn't acknowledge, and slinks out of the room. Josie finally registers the change in the atmosphere.

"Something wrong?" she asks mildly.

"All that concern about a child in danger and all your civic pride not wanting us to slander your fair city," Lucas growls. "It was just a heaping load of bollocks, wasn't it? This is just a big, fat payday for you! You've got the British Secret Service by the balls and you're going to milk them for all you can get, aren't you?"

"Well, you can certainly assume that if you wish," Josie says stiffly, "or, if you would like to…"

"And Lieutenant Colonel!" Lucas roars, coming to his feet as he suddenly remembers _that_ surprise. "How in _bloody hell_ does something like _that_ escape mention when you're blathering on about the lumber industry and your family cemetery and a disappearing corpse?"

He stands there, breathing heavily and wanting to put his fist through a wall. Josie sits primly at the desk, her face expressionless and her hands folded on the blotter in front of her, for so long that he starts to feel a little foolish. Just as he is about to walk out, she finally speaks.

"…or, if you would like to sit back down and talk like a civilized human being, I'll be happy to answer all of your questions," she continues her thought from earlier, "or, you could storm out of here in a dramatic fashion and let that be the end of it. Either way, I will not tolerate your yelling at me any longer."

Lucas scoffs. "And what would you do to stop me?" he snarls.

Josie gives him an almost disdainful smile. "You really don't want to find out."

Lucas isn't frightened in the least. He's not as certain as he once was that she won't try to hurt him unless it is absolutely necessary, but he is completely confident in his own ability to defend himself – as long as he can get to her before she sticks him with a bloody knife. He pulls his chair a little further away from the desk and sits.

Josie waits in silence for several moments until he tips his head inquiringly and gestures to indicate that he is yielding the floor to her.

"So, what do you want to know about first, the money, or the military service?"

The decision is easy. Harry has her military records. He can read those at his leisure. There's only one way to get inside her head.

"The money," he says, praying that she's not just some greedy bitch out to get whatever she can.

"The money is easy to explain," she says. "You and I have talked about the risks I am taking by helping you. You just heard me admit to your boss that I'm willing to take part in an international kidnap conspiracy to help him get the mole that betrayed you."

"So, you figured you should get some compensation out of the British government up front, did you?" Lucas asks bitterly. "Just in case everything goes wrong."

"No," Josie denies the accusation, "but I thought they might not mind investing in my legal defence should I be charged with any crimes related to this op."

"Except that you haven't been charged with anything yet," Lucas points out.

"Yeah, and since spying is a game of lies, I'm really comfortable taking Harry's word for it that he will help me if it should happen in the future," she replies sarcastically. "Really, the Home Secretary and the Prime Minister won't mind at all the kind of press that would come from the British government writing a check to an American criminal defence attorney, would they?"

"You're asking him to take your word that you will help us," Lucas reminds her.

"Yes, and as a gesture of good faith, I have shown him that you and Alexei are unharmed and well-cared for," she counters. "I even let him speak with you himself. Do you know why I chose a Swiss bank?"

"Because they can handle particularly large sums?" Lucas responds sarcastically, unfazed by the non sequitur.

"Because you can put all kinds of crazy restrictions on the accounts," she says. "You can even establish anonymous accounts that will disburse funds to anyone who arrives bearing a certain token. I intend to establish an account that will only pay out to a licensed attorney or a law firm representing me in legal action pertaining to events occurring between the day we met and the day you leave this country. Of course the attorney will have to provide the case number, name of the judge, and the court in which the case is being tried to get at those funds, and, if the British government can secure me an immunity agreement, then any remaining balance will be returned to the government account from which the money came the day the document is registered with the courts, or three years from the date you leave the country, whichever is later."

"Why three years after I leave the country?" Lucas wonders.

"After that drive through the city, if anyone is able to identify me, I quite expect to be hit with at least one civil suit," she says. "Three years is one year beyond the statute of limitations for most civil suits in the State of Pennsylvania. I'm hoping it will cover me against any exceptions that I didn't read up on. Knowing my luck, the witch who lives at the corner where your friends wrecked would likely sue me for damage to her tree even though the whole neighbourhood knows it was half dead and got up a petition last year to have the township force her to cut it down. And now I think about it, I should probably ask the British government to indemnify me against any civil actions pertaining to the assistance I'm offering you."

Lucas is quiet for a long moment. He's feeling quite the fool now, but he's still too angry to apologize.

"Are you bloody serious?" he asks.

"Come on, now, do you think I could bullshit a story like that on the spot?" she counters. "Of course I'm serious. I've given it quite a lot of thought over the past few hours. I served my country for eighteen years before my back injury forced me to retire early. Then I became a teacher. I was never looking to get rich, but I'd prefer not to go bankrupt, go to prison, or be executed for treason, either."

"Why didn't you tell Harry what you were going to do with the money?" Lucas wants to know.

"Because letting him think he'll never see it again gives me a chance to see how he plans to deal with me," she explains. "If he has the money when I call with the account information, he intends to deal fairly. If he only has excuses, he's likely to try to screw me over."

"And why didn't you tell me what you were going to do?" he asks.

"Because your honest reactions tell me what you really think of me," she says. "I can't say I'm surprised. I imagine you've got to be pretty cynical to do your job. I am a little hurt, though, that you would assume I was a greedy bitch, but that's mostly because I really liked you."

"Liked?" Lucas echoes, feeling ever so slightly ashamed when her words make him recall his thoughts from earlier. "As in, not anymore?"

She shrugs and smirks. "Things aren't completely unsalvageable, but you're going to have to work for it."

Lucas grins. She grins back.

He shakes his head. "You are absolutely barking mad, do you know that?"

She shrugs again. "I teach high school, now," she says. "It's a prerequisite for the job."

"And why didn't you mention your military service?" Now he's merely curious, not angry.

"Because in my experience, introducing myself to potential suitors as 'Lieutenant Colonel Josanne Marie Slater, United States Marine Corps, Military Police, Retired,' sounds a hell of a lot like, 'I spent the best years of my life policing the toughest fighting force on the planet. I can kick your ass up one side of the street and down the other, so don't get handsy,' and I rather wanted you to get handsy."

Lucas blushes and chuckles.

Josie leers, "Still do."

WHEN LUCAS AND JOSIE COME INTO THE KITCHEN, Alexei looks from one to the other and asks tentatively, "Ok?"

They exchange a look and matching smirks, and Josie answers for both of them. "Ok."

"OK!" Alexei cheers. Then to Lucas he says, "_I told you she liked you_. _You will need no blankets to keep warm tonight, my friend._"

"_Shut up,_" Lucas growls, and when Josie asks him to translate, he says, "He wants to know how we can help with dinner."

Alexei uses the phone app to check his translation and snickers.

Josie looks from one of them to the other and says, "Liar."

Alexei hits the translate button again and bursts into laughter.

Deciding to ignore them both, Lucas grabs a basket off the counter and says, "I'll go collect the vegetables for the salad."

He's at the door when he realizes that the house sits on a very large property and he has not seen much of it yet. Sighing in frustration, he asks, "Which way is the garden?"

He isn't sure which of them laughs at him, but it sounds like a chipmunk.

Then Josie's amused voice says, "Turn right out the door, follow the edge of the cornfield uphill. The garden is on your left. You can't miss it. The fence is electrified to keep out the deer, so take care not to touch it."

Lucas leaves without another word.

As he ambles up the hill past the field of maize, he looks to his left and sees the shed where Josie parked last night. It doesn't have any doors, just a roof and three walls with a couple of supporting poles along the open side. The big black sedan is gone, and what he sees in its place makes him laugh aloud. It is as he imagined, red, sporty, a convertible, in fact, and what he imagines people mean when they talk about muscle cars. The bonnet is longer than the passenger compartment and the boot combined, and he suspects the bloody thing takes off like a rocket from every stop sign and traffic light. If it had belonged to a man, people would have said he was compensating, but for Josie, it seems to perfectly suit her personality. Despite all the surprises she has sprung on him since last night, in this, she is utterly predictable.

The garden, when he comes to it, is, as Josie said, impossible to miss. Easily ten thousand square feet, it is clearly well-tended and obviously carefully planned. The western half is given over to fruit trees and berry bushes. Lucas recognizes apples, peaches, nectarines, cherries, blueberries, raspberries, and currants among half a dozen others that are not so familiar. The south end of that half of the garden is a large strawberry patch. Josie has planted an ever-bearing variety Lucas realizes, for there are still a few blossoms and ripening berries here and there when other types would have stopped producing in late June or early July.

The rows of the vegetable garden run east to west across the north-south slope of the ground to prevent erosion. Pole beans, caged tomatoes, and climbing cucumbers provide dappled shade for summer lettuce, cabbage, beets, spinach, and a few other crops that don't tolerate well the scorching summer sun. There are six rows of maize planted across the north end of the plot, each split down the middle with tall plants, already spent on the left and shorter ones just now at their peak on the right, different varieties planted at different times, Lucas supposes. Pumpkin vines ramble among the cornstalks and the heads a few, widely spaced, spectacularly tall sunflowers bob above them. Lucas also recognizes broccoli, cauliflower, peas, several varieties of peppers ranging from sweet bell peppers to fiery Scotch bonnets, potatoes, parsnips, carrots, two or three varieties of squash, watermelons, cantaloupes, and honeydew. Scattered throughout the garden are patches of marigolds, nasturtium, Johnny-jump-ups and other edible flowers to attract bees and other pollinators.

As he walks the perimeter looking for a gate, he notices a latticework of copper pipes, which must have cost a bloody fortune but serves the dual purpose of irrigating the garden and repelling slugs. Why, of all things, he remembers that his mum once told him slugs hate copper and will not cross it, he does not know; but all of a sudden, the sound of birds singing and the smell of the earth make him homesick. For the first time in ages, he misses his parents' cottage next to the chapel where his father preached in rural Cumbria not far from Dufton, the annual sheepdog trials, quiz night at the Stag Inn, birding with his dad, and the sound of his mum humming as she pruned her roses. He takes a deep breath, intending to squash down the memories, then decides he'd rather savour them, and sits down right where he is to take in the view.

The steep hill behind the house and outbuildings is deceptive, he realizes as he turns to look southward. It makes it appear as though the buildings and surrounding lawn are on a level field, but they are actually at the top of a long, gentle grade that runs more than half a mile up from a tree-lined stream. Beyond the stream, where the ground starts to rise to another steep hill like the one behind him, he can see a dark blotch where their pursuers wrecked last night, but he looks away from that before he lets it fully register in his mind. Off to his left are acres and acres of farmland ranging in hue from vibrant green to yellowy-gold to dove-gray depending on what is growing or has been harvested there. He can see six barns in addition to Josie's and clusters of houses along the roads at the edges of the fields. It's a beautiful spot and it makes his heart ache for the home of his childhood.

Shadows chase across the landscape, and Lucas flops back in the grass to watch the clouds. The weather is gorgeous. Last night's storm seems to have heralded a cooling trend with drier air. There is a fresh breeze from the west, and the sky is a clear, bright blue from horizon to horizon, dotted with puffy white clouds like piles of candyfloss. Off to the east, there is one that looks exactly like a Nike trainer, and in the south, he sees a vase of flowers. Directly overhead, there is an almond shaped opening in the clouds with a little puff of white in the middle. It is like the Eye of God looking down on him, and his mind runs off to visit William Blake. His eyes slide closed as he tries to remember the third verse of the introduction to _Songs of Innocence_.

SOMETHING IS TICKLING LUCAS'S CHEEKS. He reaches up and bats it away, smacks his lips and dozes again. The tickle returns, he swats at it again. It comes back, and he opens his eyes to see a golden gaze staring down at him. A little pink nose is impossibly close, and then it bumps against his. The whiskers tickle his cheeks. He cradles the small animal against his chest, moving it to his lap as he sits up. It's a very healthy, muscular, brown and white tabby cat.

"Aren't you the handsome bloke?" Lucas chuckles as the cat butts its head against his palm looking for a scratch behind the ears.

Lucas obliges and the cat begins purring instantly and rolling its head to provide Lucas with easy access to all the best scratching spots behind its ears, between its shoulders, and along its cheeks. When Lucas slips a finger under its chin to scratch there, the tabby stretches out its neck, tips its head back, closes its eyes, and purrs like a motorboat.

"Like that, do you, mate?"

Lucas runs his hand down the length of the cat's back, gently closing his hand round the tail so he can stroke all the way to the end of it, and as he reaches the tip, the cat twists around and gets its head under Lucas's palm again.

Lucas grins. "No wasted motion, eh? Very efficient."

He pets the cat again, and again it turns as soon as he gets to the tip of its tail. They carry on like this for several minutes in silence, except for the cat's incessant purring, and then Lucas stops petting and resumes scratching the cat's head.

Lucas stretches his legs out in front of him, leans back on one hand, and stares out at the valley before him. It's such a spectacular view that he just gets lost in it. He can easily imagine Monet, Rubens, or JMW Turner hiking through the fields, pausing here and there, looking for the best light and angle for painting a landscape masterpiece.

The next thing he knows, the cat has its paws on his chest and is thrusting its face into his again, letting him know he was so absorbed in the scene before him that he forgot to scratch. Laughing, he turns his face away from the little creature and starts scratching its back. The cat rests its head on his shoulder and begins licking his ear. It tickles and scratches all at once, and Lucas shivers and cringes.

"Easy there, mate," he says, laughing as he eases the cat down to his lap again. "I'd much rather your mistress did that."

"Did what?" a voice calls from behind him.

Lucas feels his face flush red.

"Nothing," he calls.

Needle sharp claws just barely catch his hand, gripping him without piercing his skin. He scratches the cat's head again.

"Demanding little bastard, aren't you?" he murmurs to the cat. "Are you sure Alexei didn't put you up to this?"

The cat tips its head back to look at him for a moment, then closes its eyes, and purrs with uncommon enthusiasm.

"I see you've met Boo," Josie says, coming up with a basket laden with produce which she places on the ground as she sits beside him, her legs stretched out before her.

"I have, if that's its name," Lucas confirms. "How long was I asleep?"

"I don't know, but you were gone more than half an hour," Josie tells him. "I was wondering what might have become of you. When I came out here, you and he were sleeping so peacefully together I decided to leave you to finish your naps."

He leans forward, shifting to sit with his legs folded Indian-style, hands resting on his knees. Boo moves to Josie's lap as he does so, and then, once he's situated, hops down and begins pacing and rubbing from her foot to the middle of her thigh, then turning to move across Lucas's knees before retracing his steps all the way back to Josie's foot. Lucas holds out his right hand, and Boo arches into his palm each time he walks under it.

"You should have woken me," he says, gesturing toward the produce basket. "I was meant to do that."

Josie makes a dismissive sound. "Nonsense," she says. "You must have needed the sleep."

As Boo reaches his left knee, Lucas experimentally slides his left hand behind himself. The cat continues walking and rubbing, all along his left thigh and across his back to his left palm. He stops a moment there behind Lucas, until he gets his ears scratched a bit, and then turns and paces across Lucas's back, down his thigh, across his knees, under his right palm, and down the length of Josie's leg.

"He's a very affectionate creature, isn't he?" Lucas chuckles.

"He's a mangy, tick infested, flea bitten, mite riddled, worm-gutted stray that some…creep threw out as a half-grown tomcat," Josie says, making the string of insults aimed at Boo sound like affectionate pet names while the word creep carries all the fury and loathing of a Biblical curse. "He only hangs around here because he knows I'm a soft touch for a hearty meal. My guess is some…jackass thought he'd make a nice pet when he was a kitten, but then when he started spraying, they were too damn cheap to have him neutered!"

Her tone may have started out affectionate, but by the end of her speech, she is clenching her teeth. Lucas is surprised by her vehemence. Boo actually shies away from her.

Curious to see what he can stir up, he says, "Go on, tell us how you really feel."

"All right, I will," she agrees. "If I knew who dumped him, I would staple their genitals to the shed wall and use them for target practice," she says. "Mankind was given dominion over the animals, not license to abuse, misuse, neglect, and abandon them. We have several no-kill shelters in the county, the SPCA, and every vet I know has a bulletin board in his office for clients to post 'free to a good home' ads. A sweet creature like him doesn't deserve to be dumped along the road like litter!"

"Yet you didn't put him up for adoption," Lucas prods.

"Look around you," Josie says sheepishly. "It's a farm. I have mice."

"Uh-huh," Lucas grunts sceptically.

"He's a good hunter, too," she says with enthusiasm. "When the weather's decent, he brings me two or three presents a week. Last year I got a half-grown rabbit and a month ago, he jumped from the roof of my care and snatched a bat right out of the air. When I went out of town and had my auntie look after the place, he dropped a half-dead squirrel through the sunroof on her car as a thank you present."

Lucas bursts out laughing, which startles Boo. When he jumps to Josie's lap, she scoops him up, cradles him in her arms like a baby, scratches his belly, and talks baby talk to him. After a moment, the cat squirms out of her arms and resumes rubbing himself across her and Lucas's legs.

"Looks to me like he's found a good home here," Lucas comments.

Josie shrugs and pushes herself to her feet.

"What can I say? I'm a big softie."

As she bends to pick up the basket, Lucas grabs the handle.

"I'll take that," he says as he stands with it in hand. "With your back, you probably should have woken me to pick the vegetables."

He knows immediately that it is the wrong thing to say as she tenses and narrows her eyes at him.

"I will tell you this only once, so please listen," she says. "I know my limits, and I don't like pain. When I need help, I will ask. Since you have been kind enough to offer, I won't argue over such a small thing, but in the future, please don't coddle me. Understood?"

Lucas is so relieved that she isn't pissed off that he just says, "Yes, ma'am."

As they walk toward the house, Boo pounces on Lucas's heels, attacking each one in turn as the other moves away from him.

"And for the record," Josie says, slipping her hand through his arm, "if you want _me_ to lick your ear, you'll have to wash it first."

This time, she's too close for Lucas to curse about his embarrassment, even under his breath, so they return to the house in silence, arm in arm.

DINNER, FOR LUCAS, IS EXTRAORDINARY mostly by virtue of being so very ordinary. Knowing who he is and what he does and having a background in which she dealt with secret and confidential matters, Josie quite conscientiously keeps the conversation limited to art, literature, sports, entertainment, and other topics that do not require him to disclose anything personal. At the same time, she is no longer reluctant to reveal information about herself, so the meal seems more friendly and familiar than merely cordial and polite. With Alexei playing a combination of wingman and matchmaker, Lucas is a bit nervous that he or Josie will decide to make the cell phone translate Russian to English, but they seem to prefer using him, so it is easy to edit Alexei's comments.

They laugh and tell stories, argue about art and literature, and even manage to share a couple of jokes that make sense across all three cultures, American, British, and Russian. Then Josie asks Alexei for the green beans. He pushes the button on the phone for the translation, snorts with laughter when it is wildly wrong but makes complete sense when one considers the request is being made by a foreigner, and passes her the vegetables.

"_Spasiba_," she says.

Alexei's eyes go wide and Lucas's head snaps up.

_"You speak Russian?"_ Alexei gasps. _"All this time with the phone and having him translate and you speak Russian?"_

"You speak Russian!" Lucas accuses her. "What? Were you having me translate to see if I'd really repeat what you said or to see if I was honest when you asked me what we were talking about?"

"Easy there!" Josie shouts over the two of them. "I can also say _gracias, danke schöen, merci beaucoup, _and_ grazie. _Doesn't mean I speak Spanish, German, French, or Italian any more than saying _Hujambo_ makes me fluent in Swahili or _Jag herte Josie, vad herte du? _proves I speak Swedish...or is that Norweigian?"

She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. I know all of maybe ten phrases in Russian, most of them I mispronounce, and half of them are completely useless anyway."

That doesn't stop her from listing them all off.

"_Glasnost. Perestroika. Da. Nyet. Zdravstvujte. __Kak dela? Horošo. Spasiba. Dosvedanyeh. Nil syia tsarapits._"

"_Nil syia tsarapits?_" Alexei repeats to Lucas as if to verify what he's heard.

"_Nil syia tsarapits?_" Lucas repeats to Josie, then shakes his head and asks, "Don't scratch?"

She looks sheepish and shrugs. "The friend who taught me had cats. Sadly, from what I have been told, due to case and gender and other grammatical considerations, it doesn't really make sense in bed. Oh, and, _Moio sudno na vozdušnoy poduške polno ugrey._"

The last she says very slowly and carefully, beaming with pride when she gets it all out flawlessly.

Alexei falls off his chair laughing.

"…which makes eleven," Josie continues, ignoring the rude Russian. "But you can't really say I was lying, because I told you 'maybe' ten phrases. It was a low estimate_._"

Lucas nods, agreeing with her, and trying valiantly _not _to laugh, he repeats, "_Moio sudno na vozdušnoy poduške polno ugrey?_"

Josie nods gravely. "Uh-huh."

"Do you have any idea what that means?" he asks, feeling the corners of his mouth trying to twitch into a grin.

Josie nods. "My hovercraft is full of eels," she manages with a straight face.

Lucas has to bite his lip. "Yes. Quite right."

Josie shrugs and says, "I told you, half of what I know is useless."

Then she decides Alexei needs a crash course in English. Lucas agrees that certain phrases might be helpful if they have to escape or defend themselves against trouble, but once they get past a dozen or so simple commands such as _get down, follow me, keep quiet, _and _run, _he and Josie disagree on what he needs to know most. For starters, Lucas contends that Alexei does not yet need to know five different ways to respond to _Hello, how are you?_

"_Fine, thanks_, is enough," he insists. "Most people don't even listen to the answer anyway."

"And what if he's ill or injured?" she demands.

"Then he'll have me to translate, or he can borrow your phone!" Lucas replies. "We won't just leave him to sink or swim. When we get him to the UK, we'll assign someone to help with the transition. He'll have a contact person who is fluent in both languages to assist in all emergencies and legal, business, and financial matters. That assistance will be available to him round the clock, seven days a week, for as long as he wants it, even if it's for the rest of his life."

They sit around the table until well after dark, picking at the remains of the meal and debating what phrases will be the most useful for Alexei in his new life. For the most part, Alexei is content to let them settle it themselves, finding the translation app most helpful, but when they start arguing for the third time over the proper _English _names for certain things, he gets up and starts searching the cupboards for dishes to put the leftovers away.

Josie is immediately on her feet.

"You don't have to do that," she says, reaching for the platter of unfinished pork chops he is taking off the table.

After checking the translation, he looks at Lucas and says, "_She was the last to sleep and the first to wake. I heard you cry out in the night, and I heard her go in to comfort you. She has worked very hard and taken good care of us. She has promised to look after us until we leave. Tell her __**we**__ will do the washing up_."

Lucas nods to Alexei and then smiles at Josie. Taking the pork chops back from her, he says, "Sorry, love, but he's as stubborn as you are, and I'd rather not spend the rest of the evening translating an argument. We will do the washing up."

Josie pouts for a moment, then shrugs and gets up from the table.

"Suit yourselves," she says. "Thank you."

As she leaves the kitchen, Alexei sighs wistfully. "_I wish my Elena could have the chance to meet her," _he says.

"_Why is that?_" Lucas asks.

"_Maybe Josie could convince her that men can be trusted to help around the house without constant supervision._"

Lucas thinks back to when he was married and chuckles.

"_I think that has something to do with her military service,_" he says. "_There aren't that many female marines. She's probably used to delegating responsibility to men._"

"_And she most certainly allowed us to do something we couldn't ruin so badly that she couldn't fix it,_" Alexei realizes.

"_Exactly_," Lucas agrees. "_But God help us if we offer to do the laundry_."

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	14. Confessions

_**Busman's Holiday**_

_Chapter Thirteen: Confessions_

LUCAS CAN'T GET OVER how strangely normal it is to be sitting on the sofa, drinking a beer, petting the cat, and watching _Doctor Who_. Alexei has discovered "Angry Birds" on Josie's phone and has disappeared upstairs to entertain himself. At first, Lucas thinks Josie is just humouring him by tuning the television to BBC America, but it turns out she really does watch the show.

"Of course, I miss David Tennant," she says. "I mostly watched just to ogle him. Matt Smith is far too young and he looks like a Bobblehead doll. Ogling him makes me feel like a pervert with bad taste. Now I pay more attention to the stories."

Lucas is so shocked by her words that all he can do is laugh.

"Honestly, the things that come out of your mouth!" he gasps when he can speak again. "You are just being facetious, right?"

Josie shrugs.

"Mostly," she admits, "but he does look like a Bobblehead, and ogling someone as young as him makes me feel uncomfortable."

Lucas snorts.

"Are all American women as plain-spoken as you?" he asks.

"Probably not," she tells him. "But I look at it this way: Before I turned forty, I had been deployed in four major military operations, got shot twice and captured once, survived a helicopter crash and a bout of malaria, apprehended West Africa's biggest illegal arms dealer of the 20th Century, broke my back, retired from one career, and started another. I don't have time to be coy."

Amidst that impressive list there are two things that get Lucas's attention above the others, the one because he's had the experience, the other because it had been a priority on MI-5's to-do list but they hadn't been able to accomplish it, mostly because their target seldom came to the UK. Just before he left for Russia, they'd got word that the U.S. military had beaten them to it. As disappointed as they were to have lost that feather in their caps, they were also relieved to see the prosecution and confinement of the prisoner and the cleanup of the loose ends of his operation become someone else's problem.

"You arrested Luka Bezruchenko?" he asks, trying not to sound too awed.

"It was a team effort," she says modestly, "but he had a type and I was it. A little flirting, a little cat-and-mouse, a hell of a lot of good backup, and a couple of brilliant researchers to help me stay one step ahead of him – it got me my oak leaves."

"Oak leaves?" Lucas inquires. He's not very familiar with American military insignia.

"The rank of major," she replies. "I spent another three years running investigations abroad, and then transferred stateside, but we still deployed occasionally."

Lucas makes a thoughtful sound. She certainly has had an extraordinary career, and he suspects what she has told him is only the tip of the iceberg.

"Hey," she pokes him lightly in the ribs. "What's on your mind?"

He doesn't know if he should tell her. He doesn't want to tell her, but he thinks she might be one of the few people in the world who would understand. She has been there, though apparently not for as long as he was.

"You spent your career accomplishing great things," he says, "things that had international repercussions, things that benefitted the entire world. I spent the best part of mine rotting in a Russian cell."

"Ahhhh, and you're thinking about what might have been, is that it?" she asks. "What could you have done if you had been free to serve your country during that time?"

"It's hard not to wonder," he admits. "I was in my prime and at the top of my game when it happened. I was competing with another officer for Chief of Section. That's why I went to Russia, to gain an advantage over him in the selection process, and when I got captured, he got the job by default, not that he wasn't equally qualified."

"And he served his country while you cooled your heels, huh?"

"For eight years, in which time he was decommissioned and replaced, and his replacement was replaced, and now, I'm the senior officer on my team, have been for a few months, and Harry still hasn't offered me the promotion," Lucas says. "I don't know if it's my loyalty or my ability that he doubts or if he's just waiting to see if the current Chief will be coming back."

"He was injured?"

"_She _was. In an explosion," Lucas says. "There were two assets trapped in the building. They had been incapacitated, couldn't flee by themselves. I got the priority out, she was helping the secondary, but didn't have the physical strength to move him in time, and she knew it. I dare say they both knew it, but she refused to leave him to die alone. She fully expected to die with him. It was a futile effort, really. Something one does just because the mere thought of surrender is more unbearable than the certainty of defeat."

"Where there's life, there's hope," Josie interjects.

Lucas smiles slightly.

"Not always," he says, "but maybe that day.

"I was thirty feet from the door going back for her when the explosion blew me another twenty feet down the pavement. I suffered a Grade III concussion and was unconscious for several hours. It was two days before I could remember our mission and another day before I thought to ask about her…arrangements."

"Funeral arrangements?" Josie inquires.

Lucas nods, then he smirks.

"In my mind, I had already given her up for lost, but…"

"But you went back for her because in your heart, you still had hope," Josie finishes when he trails off.

"I suppose so," Lucas agrees with a nod. "So imagine my surprise when I was told the rescue team had found them both alive, pinned together and pegged to the wall by a piece of rebar that went through the asset's shoulder and into her abdomen. She was halfway under his body beneath a pile of rubble in a stairwell. She'd got him far enough from the centre of the blast to be spared most of the heat and flame – their exposed skin was blistered, not charred. He was filthy and covered in blood from hundreds of small cuts and abrasions because he had been between her and the blast as she was dragging him down the hall, but her internal injuries were far worse. She's recovering slowly, but she's still at risk for a number of fatal complications."

Lucas realises that he probably shouldn't be telling Josie as much as he is, but he's not giving up any names or mission details. MI-5 is secretive enough about its command structure that she would have a bit of work just figuring out what a section was and what the job of Chief entailed.

"Well, you know my theory on bad guys," Josie says. "There's always another one to take the place of the one you stop."

"But Bezruchenko, he was a big fish," Lucas says, circling back to an earlier point in the conversation.

"He was a _cockroach_, just like all the rest of them," Josie says emphatically. "Within six months, the arms trade was back up to the same volume as when he was active."

"We were after him, too, you know," Lucas tells her. In fact, one objective of his mission to Russia was to find out who in the Russian government, military, or intelligence services was supplying Bezruchenko with so many of the weapons he was dealing.

"Everybody was after him," Josie says. "He'd gotten out of hand, become too powerful. The world's great governments, those who had used him to supply their puppet wars in Africa, couldn't control him anymore. That was the only reason we were allowed to hunt him."

"You know, I never would have taken you for such a cynic," Lucas comments.

"I'm not," she says. "I'm a realist; reality is cynical."

He can't argue with her there, so he just sits quietly petting Boo.

"Can I give you some unsolicited advice?" she asks.

He smirks as he realizes that he wouldn't have said anything if he hadn't subconsciously wanted it.

"Sure."

"You served your country by guarding those secrets with which you were entrusted for as long as you were able," she says. "It doesn't matter if you held out for hours or days or years, you gave them as much time as you could to move agents who were in jeopardy and wrap up operations that were in progress. It wasn't glamorous, it didn't make headlines, but the most important things you do never get press. It was incredibly heroic, what you did, and it saved lives. You need to give yourself credit for that. I know a hell of a lot of Marines who wouldn't have been able to hold out so long. If things had turned out differently, I might have been one of them."

Lucas sits quietly for several moments mulling over what she has said. It's true. In the end, he had done everything he could to resist their interrogations, even to the point of trying to kill himself. He'd been so desperate at that point that he would have told Oleg anything he wanted to know to end the cycle of isolation and abuse, and he had rationalized that suicide would have been no different than being shot or gassed, blown up or irradiated in the line of duty. To hear someone else say it so plainly made him feel vindicated.

_They also serve who only stand and wait_, he thinks. It'sMilton, not Blake, but perfectly suited to the occasion.

"Thank you," he finally says softly. "I think I've waited a long time to have someone tell me that."

"I only wish it had come from someone who knew you better," she says. "It might have meant more."

"Oh, I think you know me well enough."

THERE IS NOT MUCH TO DO WHEN _DOCTOR WHO_ IS OVER. Since it is late and they are both tired, they decide to retire for the evening. Boo follows them up the stairs, and when they separate on the landing, he follows Lucas into his room. Lucas doesn't realize the cat is there until it starts rubbing against his hands as he unties his shoes. Lucas scratches the little beast behind the ears, under the chin, and at the root of his tail before he strips to his boxers, and is rewarded with loud purring and affectionate rubbing against his ankles.

He goes into the loo to clean his teeth and wash his face, and Boo hops up onto the toilet tank to watch. Not satisfied with the sudden lack of attention, the cat starts rubbing against Lucas's elbow, eventually head butting him hard enough and at just the right moment to make his toothbrush slide across his cheek making a white foamy smear across his face.

"Oi!" he grouses at the cat once he has rinsed his face and his mouth. "That's enough of that, you little monster."

Boo just looks at him quizzically, hops from the toilet tank to the countertop, and head butts him in the side. Knowing that cats dig in the litter box, Lucas really doesn't like the idea of one walking across the bathroom vanity, so he gently nudges Boo to the floor. He pees, and then sits on the toilet to answer nature's other call, and is a bit freaked out when Boo sticks his head between his knees and starts sniffing in his underwear. He picks Boo up and puts him down on the bath mat as far away as he can reach without leaving his seat. Unperturbed, Boo walks back to him, rubs his cheek against the inside of Lucas's knee, and then steps over his shorts, somehow managing to brush his tail against the inside of each of Lucas's thighs before he crouches down in the corner to sniff at the baseboard beside the bin.

Lucas briefly manages to ignore him, but before he can finish his business, Boo's tail starts twitching and brushing the back of Lucas's right thigh. Lucas knows his body's reaction to the sensory stimulation is completely natural and involuntary, but his sense of propriety tells him that it's totally inappropriate when the source of that stimulation is a cat. Mortified by his body's wanton betrayal, he takes hold of the edge of the waste bin and shakes the hell out of it.

Boo, who is utterly engrossed in the smell he is investigating behind the toilet is understandably startled. He jumps straight up, smacks his head on the under side of the toilet tank, lands in a sprawl on the floor, does a full somersault with a half twist, scrabbles to his feet, and squeezes out of the tight corner by squirming between Lucas's leg and the waste bin. He runs about two feet, stops short, turns in place, sits on the mat, wraps his tail around his feet, and proceeds to stare at Lucas.

"Don't look at me like that, mate," Lucas whispers to the cat. "You were getting bloody fresh."

Boo tilts his head, but does not blink.

Lucas suddenly discovers that he can't function this way.

_Oh, for the love of God!_ he thinks. _Eight years you crapped in a bucket, or when they took it away because they particularly wanted to humiliate you, in a corner on the floor knowing they would make you clean it up later. Now you can't do it with a bloody cat watching!_

Standing, he pulls his shorts up to mid-thigh because while he has started, he hasn't yet finished. Walking awkwardly, he goes over to where Boo is sitting on the mat, picks him up by the scruff of his neck, opens the door with his free hand, gently tosses him out, and shuts the door behind him. Hobbling back to the toilet, he sits, rests his elbows on his knees, and tries again. Then a little white paw shoots in through the crack at the bottom of the door, claws at the mat, and begins pulling it out of the loo, an inch at a time.

Lucas can only cradle his head in his hands and chuckle to himself as if he's lost his mind.

LUCAS EVENTUALLY MANAGES TO FINISH HIS BUSINESS, even with one golden eye staring at him under the loo door. He has turned off all the lights save the one on the bedside table and is just settling in under the covers with Boo on the empty pillow beside him when there is a knock at his door.

"Come in," he calls, and on the chance that it might be Alexei, he repeats himself in Russian.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, but I can't find Boo," Josie says. "Have you seen him?"

"I have," Lucas says with a laugh. "He's right here, and he has seen far more of me than I would have liked, too."

Josie presses her lips into a tight line, clearly trying to suppress a smile.

"I won't ask about that," she says. "Do you want me to put him out?"

"No," Lucas shakes his head. "Unless you're worried about me rolling over and crushing him in my sleep, he's fine."

"All right," Josie says, sitting on the edge of the bed to pet the cat. "But you'll need to leave the door open a crack so he can get out to use the litter box if he needs it."

"Of course I will, hadn't thought of that," Lucas tells her. "Do you think he would have used the rug or the bed if I'd shut him up in here?"

"Neither," she chuckles. "He'd have woken you with his meowing and kept you awake until you got pissed off and threw him out. Then he'd have made you feel like a monster by coming back, crying at the door until you opened it, rubbing against you, and begging for affection…Or he would have crapped in your shoes. It's a tossup, really."

Lucas laughs with her. "Do I detect the voice of experience speaking?"

"How did you guess?"

The silence that descends between them isn't at all uncomfortable. She sits there petting the cat, and he lays on the bed curled on his side, watching her. Some secret thought of joy or amusement drifts through her mind and she smiles a soft dimpled, smile. The sight of it makes Lucas smile, too.

"Well," she says briskly as she suddenly rises from the bed. "I'll leave you to your rest, then…"

"You know, I am prone to nightmares," Lucas says, running over her last word. "I'd hate to get thrashing about and hit him or something like that."

"Oh, I think he has sense enough to get out of the way," Josie says, pausing at the door. When Lucas doesn't say anything more, she tells him, "Well, goodni…"

"I don't think I dreamed at all after you joined me last night," he says, completely interrupting this time.

"Not that I noticed," Josie confirms. There is another pregnant pause, and then she turns to go.

"Josie, I…"

She turns back and waits.

Lucas doesn't know what to say.

"You remember what I said earlier about not having time to be coy?" she finally asks when he doesn't speak.

Lucas only nods.

"That also means I don't have the patience for it in others," she says. "If you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask."

Lucas bites his lip hesitantly. He wants her to stay, all right, but for entirely different reasons than she had for staying last night. The problem is, once he's gone, he'll never contact her again and he doesn't feel right taking advantage of the situation.

"Do _you_ want to stay?" he asks.

"Doesn't matter what I want," she says.

"It does to me," he tells her.

"What do you want me to do?" she asks.

"I…I want you to stay," he finally says, "but not just to keep my nightmares away."

She smiles that dimpled smile at him, and he feels his heart soaring and breaking all at once.

"I want that, too," she says.

"But you know, after I leave here, we'll never see each other again," he says.

"Don't ask for my number and I won't expect you to call," she teases.

Lucas smiles, too, now.

"All right," he tells her, "so long as we are both clear that this is all we'll ever have."

"Well, then," she smirks, "we'd better make the most of it to be sure the memories last a lifetime, don't you think?"

IT ISN'T QUITE WHAT LUCAS EXPECTED, but then, he'd not had any expectations to begin with. When he asked Josie to stay, he'd only known that he didn't want her to leave him alone. Now, she lies curled up by his side, her breath ghosting over his chest. His right arm is wrapped around her, his fingers playing with her curly hair. His left arm is down at his side, bent at the elbow, hand resting on his stomach. She has her left arm wrapped around his right shoulder, her head resting on her hand. Her right hand rests over his on his stomach, and her right leg is bent at the knee, resting across his thighs. Boo is curled up on her hip, purring away. She is essentially using Lucas as a body pillow and they are talking quietly. He rather enjoys the intimacy.

"May I ask you a really terrible question?" she requests. "One that I have no business asking."

"You can ask me anything," Lucas tells her. "I just can't guarantee an answer."

"What did they do to you?" she asks. "In Russia."

Lucas feels his breath catch in his throat. He should have seen the question coming, but still it catches him off guard. He's talked about it plenty, during debriefings after he came back, with the psychiatrist they'd assigned to assess his mental stability, rarely and briefly with Harry and others on the team when it was relevant to a mission. He's heard others talking, speculating really, only to fall silent when he entered the room.

Even his own parents, bless them, when he'd returned home eight years after they'd been told he was dead, more than a decade after he'd left for Uni, and with the transition officer GCHQ had assigned to help him explain what he really did for a living, where he had been, why they had been told he was dead, and what lie they were expected to tell when friends and neighbours got word that he was back, even then, even seeing the tattoos and the weight he had lost, and surely hearing him wake up sobbing in the night, they never asked. They were probably just being polite, he supposed, or not wanting to make him relive it, or afraid they couldn't bear the pain of knowing what their child had suffered. They probably never thought for a moment that he had wanted to talk about it. Worst of all, he had wanted to tell them, to be comforted and reassured that he was home and safe and forgiven for deceiving them and hurting them.

And now here is Josie, bold and forward and, by British standards, sometimes bloody rude, and she is asking, out of simple, honest curiosity, and, much to his surprise, Lucas finds, he still wants to talk.

"The FSB caught me red-handed with secret government documents no ordinary Russian citizen was supposed to see, let alone a foreigner," he begins softly. "I was a spy, caught spying, and there was no way to wiggle out of that. There was nowhere to run, and I didn't even try to resist. The odds against me were too great.

"I was shocked that they didn't beat me on the spot, just for the hell of it, when I was arrested," he says. "They didn't bother with formal charges or a trial either, but in the long run, that probably worked in my favour. As a detainee being held for questioning, they could send me home whenever they wanted. If I had been tried, convicted, and sentenced, I'd have had to serve my term before I was released. That could have been twenty years or more, if they didn't execute me.

"They put a bag over my head and frogmarched me down to the car," he says. "From then on, for the entire eight years, from city to city, building to building, room to room, even when they took me outside for a walk, even the night they gave me back to Harry, that's how they transported me between locations. I never knew how long the hood would be on, or whether I would be riding in a car or a truck or the boot. Sometimes they beat me with the hood still on. It's harder, that way, to brace yourself for the blows, so they hurt more."

He tells her about all of it, the waterboarding and the beatings, the electrocution and the psychoactive drugs that gave him terrifying visions but failed to make him talk. He tells her about Sugarhorse, though he doesn't use the codename or describe the operation, simply tells her they tortured him for seventeen days straight to get him to talk about something he'd never heard of.

He talks about the early days, when they put him in with the general prison population hoping he would let something slip to a fellow prisoner or that he would be intimidated and trade information for a safer, single cell. He tells her about the old man who had given him most of his tattoos and how his toothless smile had lit up his whole face every time he talked about his boyhood. He remembers the small indignities, being the new man in a cell of twenty inmates that was meant to hold twelve, he was made to sleep on the cold cement floor, forced to empty the bucket they all shared for a toilet, had his food stolen more often than he got to eat it, and was constantly harassed, threatened, and beaten until he got fed up with it all and picked a fight with the biggest one among them.

"He was a huge brute, strong and tough, and if he'd had any training at all, he could have beaten me to death," Lucas says, "but as it was, he was clumsy and untutored. I left him crying in a pool of his own blood and spitting out teeth. I didn't like to do it, I wasn't proud of myself for it; but I knew, sooner or later, they would come to interrogate me again, and I needed to be rested and well-nourished in order to withstand them. The only way I could get any respect or peace was to show them all that taking me on would be more trouble than it was worth."

He tells her about Arkady and their conversations about art and literature and philosophy.

"I liked seeing him," Lucas says. "I was treated well when he was there. He brought me books and clean clothes and news of the world. I never mistook him for my friend, but he made it bearable, whether he meant to or not, he helped me survive.

"It was three years before he started hinting at trying to turn me into a double agent," Lucas tells her. "At first I couldn't even bear to think of the idea. Betray my own country? Me? Never! Then after a couple of years, I thought maybe I could just give him inconsequential things, small stuff he could easily obtain elsewhere. That was when I was being kept in solitary confinement most of the time, and after I realized what I had been considering, I went through a prolonged period of shame that didn't end well."

He tells her about trying to hang himself, about how he rationalized it as dying in the line of duty, about how relieved and angry and heartbroken he was when Oleg saved him.

He doesn't realize he's begun weeping until she wipes his tears away for him, then he turns on his side, clinging to her, and begins to sob. He's crying so hard that he can't even form the words to tell her how much he has needed this. How he had been so frightened and so lonely for so long or how he's been waiting, ever since he came home, for someone who would just listen and comfort him without judging or evaluating him.

Somehow, she knows. He can tell she knows, because she doesn't try to hush him or tell him it's over and he should put it behind him or remind him that he's safe now. She just holds him close and rubs circles on his back with one hand while the other threads through his hair, over and over, soothing him. Boo licks his elbow. He has no idea how long he carries on, but when he is finished, there is a nasty wet spot staining Josie's red silk nightgown.

"Sorry," he says, feeling embarrassed. "God, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," she says, and wipes away a few stray tears with her thumb.

So he stops.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself and makes a conscious effort to draw the tattered shreds of his composure together before he continues.

"That's when I decided to tell Arkady that I would be his double agent inside MI-5," Lucas tells her. "I planned to make a gift of him to Harry, to prove my loyalty and to show I still had what it takes to do my job."

"Mmm," Josie murmurs. "And because cufflinks are so cliché?"

Lucas looks at her, she cocks a brow and smirks wickedly.

He bursts into gales of laughter, startling Boo, who leaps straight up and lands back in the exact same spot, sinking his claws into Josie's hip to stabilise himself when the silky nightgown begins to slide beneath him.

"OW!" she shrieks, sitting up, which sends the cat scrambling across the bed to huddle at Lucas's feet with his ears back and his tail all puffed out like a bottle brush.

Somehow, that only makes Lucas laugh harder.

BY THE TIME HE STOPS LAUGHING, Lucas's ribs are sore and his cheeks hurt. He can't remember the last time he felt this free and relaxed. It must have been before he married Elizavyeta, because with her there was always the constraint of keeping his real work a secret. It might even have been way back before he joined MI-5, before he had to keep secrets and pretend to be someone he wasn't. Whatever the case, at least for the moment, he feels like a new man, and much to his chagrin, he is no longer interested in the types of activities for which a man usually invites a woman into his bed.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, when the teasing patterns Josie has been tracing on his body move below his waist. "I just…C-can we talk some more? May I ask you a question?"

"Don't apologize," Josie gently admonishes him once again, moving her hand up to rest docilely at his waist. "Go ahead and ask."

"You…You mentioned that you had been captured. When? Where? What was it like?"

"That's three questions," Josie teases.

Lucas smiles faintly, but doesn't say a word. Maybe he shouldn't have asked. It helped him to talk about Russia, probably more than she will ever know; but for all he knows, she may have been too traumatized by her experience to talk about it. On the other hand, she may truly be completely over it and his inquiry is just tedious, at worst. It shames him to admit, even to himself, that he isn't asking the question for her benefit anyway. Now that he has opened up about Russia to someone who was willing just to listen and let him talk without analyzing or judging or relating their own experiences, he needs to hear from someone else who has been through something similar because he wants to know how his thoughts and actions compare. He doesn't want her to feel pressured, but if she's at all willing, he desperately wants her to talk. He needs to know if he is normal.

"It was Somalia," she finally says. "April of 1993. Part of Operation Restore Hope. The U.S. committed nearly 29,000 troops, with more than half coming from the 1st Marine Expeditionary Unit. At least twenty-five other U.N. member nations supplied another 22,000 people, combined, but the whole thing was under the command of Marine Corps General Robert B. Johnston. I never asked who decided it was America's job to stop the war lords, secure the capital, and coordinate humanitarian activities and supply convoy escorts afterwards. I'm a Marine. I follow orders, and that was the extent of it."

Lucas can tell by her tone that she has her own thoughts regarding the political machinations that landed several tens of thousands of her brothers- and sisters-in-arms in the middle of a violent, bloody mess in the Horn of Africa. He's also known enough military types to realize that, while she wouldn't have had to check her opinions at the door when she joined the service, she would have honoured her oath to defend her country and obey her commander-in-chief, whether she agreed with him or not.

"The Corps didn't intentionally put women in combat roles back then," she continues. "So I didn't get there until we had advanced well into the interior and begun setting up Humanitarian Relief Sectors, or HRSs, but in a country where a twelve-year-old can get an AK-47 easier than he can lay his hands on a decent pair of shoes, the distinction between combat and humanitarian missions is strictly academic.

"I was with the Marine Forces operating in the Bardera HRS. We worked with aid organizations, operated humanitarian aid centres, escorted convoys, made medical and engineering assessments of local facilities and infrastructure, and coordinated local projects to rebuild what had been destroyed during the civil war. Some critics say that we went beyond the scope of our mission, others say the scope of the mission was too broad. I know I preferred helping the sick, hungry, and homeless to shooting people and blowing things up and so did most of the guys who served with me.

"By late February or early March, we had settled into a routine, and as important as they are for the smooth running of a large military operation, routines can be dangerous. Life for the Somali people was normalizing. Markets were open again, people started travelling to visit friends and family, there was even talk of re-establishing a Somali National Police Force. We conducted vehicle and foot patrols in our sector, and while we occasionally bumped into bandits, there was seldom any violence. It was not a wartime environment, and the Rules of Engagement admonished us to employ only the minimum force necessary to accomplish our missions. That's sort of what got my patrol in trouble.

"PsyOps had done a hell of a good job communicating to the Somali people that we were there to help, so there wasn't a day we went out among them that we weren't greeted by friendly locals wanting to thank us and needy people asking for assistance. There were nine of us in the patrol, travelling in three jeeps. Not the most secure vehicle in the military, I know, but at that time and in that place, we had to strike a balance between security and accessibility. Since we had been to that village a number of times and there had been no incidents of violence for some time, jeeps seemed suitable for the mission.

"We had received unconfirmed reports of a flu-like illness in the area, so we had brought along a doctor, a nurse, an extra medic, and all the appropriate medical supplies we could carry. We even had Saltine crackers and ginger ale to settle upset tummies, and let me tell you, that took up some prime real estate in our crowded vehicles.

"So, we pull into this village, climb out, start greeting the locals, pair off leaving a guy behind to watch the jeeps, and sort of fan out among the houses. The idea is to meet and assist as many people as possible to maintain friendly relations and keep an eye out for signs of insurgent activity at the same time."

"Signs of insurgent activity?" Lucas asks. It is the first question he has. He knows generally what she means, but wonders what the specific signs would have been when she was deployed.

"You know, I honestly hadn't seen any until that day," Josie tells him. "We were told to keep an eye out for the obvious, new bullet holes in buildings, signs of recent target practice, injuries that didn't match the explanations given for them. Subtler things like families that seemed to be improving their situations dramatically faster than their neighbours, either by having more food, better clothing and shoes, or more and better tools, would have prompted us to look a little harder. We never saw any of it. I know that makes us sound incompetent, but it wasn't for lack of looking.

"If we'd had a military mandate, we'd have taken more aggressive action. We would have searched homes rather than visiting them. We'd have interrogated people instead of conversing with them. We would have sought out allies and assets rather than making friends. We would have prevented what was coming rather than survived it.

"So, that day we're there to make friends and influence people, treat the sick, if there are any, and generally do our good deeds for the day. Before we're ten feet from the jeeps, this child comes running up to us. It's a little boy of about five or six, sobbing hysterically, snot and tears running down his face and dripping off his chin.

"According to our interpreters, he was crying, 'Mama's sick! Mama's sick!' It took a few moments to establish that his mother was a widow, his father killed in the civil war, and she hadn't been able to feed or care for him or his younger sisters for three days. I went with the doctor and an interpreter to look in on her. We took medical supplies including the appropriate drugs for the symptoms the boy described and IV fluids and followed the kid double time to their hut on the edge of the village.

"Remember what I said about routines being dangerous?" she asks, seeking for the first time to engage Lucas in the conversation.

He only nods. Her primer on the Somali Civil War and UN Humanitarian efforts in the country was more than sufficient background, and he recognizes the behaviour as a way to get oneself back into a certain frame of mind so that talking about an unpleasant incident won't be such a shock, but he really wants to know what happened. What went wrong, how was she captured, what did she think, how did she feel, what happened to her, what did she do, how did she cope, how was she rescued?

"Well, being invited into homes, visiting with people, being friendly with them had become routine," Josie said. "I was young, but I was the one with the big gun. It was my job to make sure the room was clear and it was safe for the others to work. Maybe I'd grown complacent, I don't know; but I am sure that I checked the room before I let the doc and the interpreter go in. The mother looked like she was sleeping, she was pale, but she didn't look dead.

"The doc comes in, takes her pulse, curses, and the next thing I know I am trying to help him with CPR because our interpreter claims he doesn't know how. I was going to do the breathing when I realized my palm was full of blood and slime. The poor woman hadn't died of illness, she'd been shot in the head. She still felt warm, and the doc had thought it was worth the effort to try to revive her, so I could only assume it had happened very recently. I was reaching for my radio to call for assistance when someone bashed me in the face and knocked me out.

"When I came to, we were somewhere else, sitting on the floor with our backs to the wall, ankles and wrists bound, knees bent, arms wrapped around our legs and wrists and ankles bound together. I could tell the doc was beside me, but I couldn't see him. He said my eye was swollen shut. I licked my lips and tasted blood. He said the blow had split the skin above my eye and I would be lucky if it hadn't fractured my eye socket. I asked who had hit me, and he told me it was our interpreter.

"They thought they were going to trade us for munitions and supplies. For the next seventeen days, we were bound hand and foot most of the time, only released to eat and relieve ourselves or to move from one place to another where we would be bound again. They didn't bother to interrogate us. They knew a doctor wouldn't have much intel on the stuff they wanted; whether they assumed I wouldn't know because of my sex or my rank, I don't know, but they were mistaken. I really dodged a bullet there. If they had realized I not only could have led them to three different weapons caches, but gotten them access, God knows what they might have done."

Josie stops in her narrative and frowns at Lucas.

"I'm not telling you what you want to know, am I?" she asks.

He shakes his head, feeling embarrassed.

"It's all right," he says. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Why ever not?" she says. "I asked you."

"Yes, and I rather suspect that you knew, or at least sincerely believed that it would benefit me to tell you about my experiences in Russia, especially after what you saw last night," Lucas tells her. "And it did, and I'm grateful. You, on the other hand, obviously don't need to talk about your captivity with anyone and I'm just being rude by asking."

"You're right," she says. "I don't _need_ to talk about the things that happened to me, but I don't _mind_ it either; and being curious about the person whom you've invited to share your bed is not rude. If there's something you want to know, just ask. The worst I can do is to refuse to answer you."

"You really don't mind?" he asks, still dubious.

"No, I don't," she says. "Ask away."

"Ok, when you first realized what had happened, what went through your mind?" he begins.

"Huh," she laughs lightly. "That wasn't what I was expecting."

He smiles and shrugs slightly, but doesn't ask what she was expecting. He wants an answer and is afraid he won't ever get one if he leads her off on another tangent.

"When I came to, my first thought, and I said it aloud, was, 'Shit. My face hurts.' Then I realized I was bound hand and foot. Then for a moment it was like my brain was in a blender. I had so many thoughts all running together.

"Oh, my God, I'm going to die. This is how I'm going to die. Is this how I'm going to die? Am I really going to die? Maybe I'm not going to die. They wouldn't have tied me up if they were just going to kill me anyway, would they? So, what do they want? Wait!"

Josie jerks slightly, as if having a sudden realization.

"The moment I realised I wasn't going to die in the next two seconds and got to the question, 'What do they want?' I started thinking," she says. "I started planning, plotting, reasoning. 'They haven't killed me already, so what can I do to _prevent _them from killing me?'

"The next seventeen days was a lot of planning and scheming, two aborted escape plans, one we went ahead with and failed, regular beatings, irregular meals, and underlying it all, two constant questions: 'Will they really let us go?' and 'What did I do wrong?'"

Lucas lets out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. Suddenly, he feels relieved. It takes him a moment to recognise the emotion and then another moment to realise why he feels it.

Josie looks at him curiously. "What is it?" she asks.

"You worried that you'd been captured because you made a mistake," he says.

"Well, yeah," she says as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, the training they give you, you're led to believe that if you do everything right, bad stuff won't happen, or at least, if it does, you'll be able to get yourself out of it."

"What did you conclude?" he asks.

"That sometimes you can do everything right and shit happens anyway," she says. "That sometimes, you trust the wrong people and if the signs aren't there, you'll never know it until they betray you. That when things are bad, sometimes all you can do is hold on and wait for them to change."

Lucas nods. He's had eight years' experience with doubting himself and waiting for things to change.

"You say they beat you," he recalls. "Did they…do anything else?"

She looks at him, perplexed, and before he can clarify that he means torture, she answers, "There was one night, the older men who were in charge were off doing something else, and they left half a dozen kids, just teenagers, really, maybe the eldest was twenty or so, to guard us. They each had a go at me. A couple of the littlest ones didn't want to. They were just children and probably as scared as I was. The leader of the pack threatened to cut it off if they didn't take their turns."

"Oh, God, Josie, I'm so…"

"Don't be sorry," she interrupts, unwilling to hear his compassion, probably mistaking it for pity. "I think there is something different in the psychological makeup of some women who join the military, or maybe the training changes something about them. I've had the chance to talk to a couple of other women POWs who were assaulted in that way, and they said the same thing I'm about to tell you. It was just one more, cruel thing they did to me because they could."

Lucas falls silent for a long time. He doesn't know how to respond. He was wondering if they had tortured her, but she has already told him that she considers rape a torture. He can see why she would feel that way and would never be able to explain why he had, until just a moment ago, classed it as something different and somehow worse. It doesn't make him see her as a victim. He still regards her as a comrade in arms, but he doesn't know how to say that without risking her thinking that it's just talk.

Apparently not saying anything is just as bad.

"So, judging by your silence, that was too much information," she says. "Does it bother you that it happened, or that I told you about it?"

"Neither," he replies immediately. "Well, that's not entirely true. I hate that it happened to you. I hate to think of anything bad happening to you. I just…It never occurred to me until now that…I don't know how to explain what I'm thinking but it has nothing to do with you. I'm just surprised to realise that…"

He trails off, lost for words. He can think of no way to say what's on his mind that doesn't sound horrible, and he's not sure if it's because they are talking about horrible things or because he's not expressing himself adequately.

"That the rape of female POWs might not be any worse, any more painful or humiliating than the things men are made to endure?" she finally supplies.

He nods.

"I think it depends a lot on the woman and how she handles it, and the man, and how he copes," Josie says. "But in the end, it's just…what bad men do to women under their control." She waits a moment for him to respond, and when he doesn't she asks, "Now I have a question for you, and please, be honest with me."

He nods again.

"Does it change how you feel about me?"

His answer at first is a shake of his head. Knowing that isn't enough, not for him or for her, he slides his arms around her and pulls her close and presses his lips to hers in a passionate kiss.

JOSIE DOESN'T MERELY SURRENDER OR SUBMIT TO LUCAS'S KISS. She _responds. _As he rolls them so that he is above her, she presses up into him, wraps her legs around his waist, threads her fingers into his hair and then cups his cheeks. Her hands slide down his neck, across his chest, around his ribs, and her arms wrap around him. The whole time, she is giving herself to him, opening her mouth when his tongue seeks entrance, thrusting her tongue to glide alongside his, sucking lightly on his lower lip when he pulls away and then pressing up again for more, pouring all her passion and feeling into this one act between them.

It's as if the smouldering embers between them have finally caught a breath of air and exploded into open flame. He feels the lace and silk of her nightgown rubbing against his skin, prickly and smooth, giving him tingles and chills. Her nails glide lightly across his back lighting up trails of fire, and suddenly, he can't stand anymore.

Pulling away, he gasps, "I can't do this."

Josie makes a dismayed little sound, turns to face him, and says, "Lucas?"

"I want you, Josie," he pants. "I _really_ want you, but…"

"No more than I want you," she interrupts, cupping his groin where an erection strains against his thin boxers making his desire obvious.

He gasps and pulls away, and Boo, who has been huddling by his feet is knocked to the floor. Since he's on the edge of the mattress now, Lucas gets out of the bed and sits on top of the covers in the lotus position. Boo hops up beside him and climbs into his lap looking for attention. Lucas is afraid of what will happen if the cat starts rolling around and rubbing against him, so he gathers him up and gently tosses him toward Josie. When he approaches Josie, she nudges him away and rises to her knees to face Lucas. Unperturbed, the cat climbs onto Lucas's pillow and lays there, watching them.

"What's the problem, then?" Josie asks.

Lucas is at a loss. He doesn't know what he's feeling or how to explain it, but he's afraid. He's absolutely terrified that a liaison with this woman will have tragic results.

"I'm a train wreck," he finally begins hesitantly, trying to sort out his thoughts as he speaks. "I came home from eight years in Russia to find my wife had abandoned me. I don't blame her for it. She thought I had abandoned her. There was no telling when or even if I'd come home. She deserved to go on with her life, but I held on to my thoughts of her. I clung to them, to the hope that she'd be waiting for me, and I used that to survive. Then, when I got home, she wasn't there.

"Lucas, I am so sorry," Josie sympathizes. "It must have been an unbearable loss."

"There was a part of me that…Yeah, part of me found it very traumatic," he says, "but honestly, after all I'd been through, I didn't feel much of anything.

"Then I met another woman, another spy," he says. "American, from the CIA operation in London, we were encouraged to see each other by our bosses for the purposes of spying on each other. I was more invested in our relationship than she was, and she was more invested in the information gathering than I was, at least until we discovered that she…wasn't on the up and up. Then I was encouraged to continue to sleep with her, to use pillow talk to suss out what was really going on."

"But you loved her," Josie assumes.

"I don't know," Lucas admits. "I think it was more that I needed something to feel like love. Maybe I just needed to _feel something. _She was the first one since before I went to Russia, and I was still just getting acquainted with my emotions again. It didn't end well for me."

"You're not the type of man to have casual, meaningless sex, are you?" Josie asks as she is walking on her knees across the bedspread to be closer to him.

Lucas shakes his head.

"Never have been," he admits. "And what I said about earlier being shy is true, too," he continues. "I've not dated that many women, let alone been intimate with them."

"Lucas…" She reaches out to touch him and he catches her hand.

"The thing is, I can't do this and have it mean nothing to me," he says. "If you can do it and have it mean nothing to you, then I don't want to do it with you."

"And you are telling me this because you assume that it means nothing to me. You feel you're more invested than I am and are afraid of what you might be risking, is that it?" Her question is asked softly, gently, she is not angry, she just wants to know.

He shakes his head.

"I just want you to know how I feel," he says.

He looks up at her and her eyes are glistening. She blinks, and tears fall.

"I'm sorry," he says.

She laughs quietly.

"Don't apologize," she says. "Never apologize for being honest."

"I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"It's just that my heart is too full with the things I want you to know," she tells him.

"What things?"

"Well, for starters, I don't do casual sex, either," she says. "This means a lot to me. Not just the sexual intimacy, but the way we can talk. It's been almost a decade since I came home from Somalia, and, except for the military shrinks and a couple of young female marines, no one has ever asked me about it."

Now she does begin to weep, and she is so close that Lucas reaches out to hold her.

"No one who loves me has ever asked me to talk about it," she gasps. "I understand that they don't want to stir up bad memories, that they don't want to hurt me, but they never even considered that it might have helped."

Lucas is again struck by how closely her words mirror his own thoughts, but he says nothing. He has the feeling that what she is about to say is important, at least to her and maybe to him, and that if he interrupts, it will never be said.

"I told you that I didn't _need_ to talk about that time, but I never considered that I might still _benefit _from it.

"I can't say that I love you," she admits sadly. "It's too soon for that. If anyone I know were to come to me and say, 'I've known this person for less than two weeks and I'm in love,' I'd say they were nuts. I'd say, 'You're in lust. Love doesn't happen that fast. You have to know each other to love each other.'

"Since the day we met, I've had silly little daydreams about visiting you in London and doing all the touristy things that you've never done because you take them for granted: The London Eye, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, strolling along the Thames, and it wasn't about touring London. It was all about being with you.

"I feel that, given sufficient time, I _could_ fall in love with you _so easily._ It's as if I have found in you a mirror to reflect my soul, and in that reflection, I see only the very best parts of me.

"Because of the lives we have led, we are two very screwed up individuals who happen to be perfect for each other. It could take me another _forty years_ to find someone who suits me as well as you do. So, I'd sooner we make all the memories we can in the next few days and have them for the next forty years than go without them forever.

"I- I guess, I _do_ love you, at least as much as I can so soon after meeting you, and I think the memory of what we can share while we're together will be worth the pain of saying goodbye."

"You love me," Lucas says, feeling a bit stunned.

"Yes."

"I…You're right about me being a mess," he says. "I don't know what I feel for you, but you've made me feel safe and cared for." He smiles slightly, "Even happy, despite the fact that my mission has gone to hell and I still have a Russian and his wife and son to smuggle out of the country and no backup to do it.

"Being with you feels right," he tells her. "I do care for you, a great deal."

In the silence that falls between them, he gives her a little squeeze and she turns to kiss the inside of his wrist where his arm is wrapped around her.

"Maybe that's all love is," he says, finding the suggestion easier than the actual words. "Is that enough for you?"

"You've put me ahead of yourself," she says as she turns to look him in the eye. "You've taken care of me and let me care for you. You've been the butt of my jokes, and had your laughs at my expense. If that's all there is to love, it's more than enough."

This time, her kiss is more demanding. Lucas pours everything he has into it as she pushes him back onto the bed. Boo decides he's seen enough and jumps down just as Lucas's head hits the pillow.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_

_**A/N: I have made an AU departure from the end of Series Eight. I'm just keeping my options open in case I should choose to follow Lucas past the end of this story, and since I am familiar with Ros and honestly liked Home Secretary Andrew Lawrence, I decided to keep them around. Maybe nothing will come of it. Maybe something. Who knows?**_


	15. Goodwill

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Fourteen: Goodwill_

AS THE SILVERY LIGHT OF DAWN BRIGHTENS THE WINDOW, an urgent need wakes Lucas. He realizes almost immediately that he is so entangled with Josie that he will never be able to slip off to the loo without waking her. She is sprawled over him from head to toe, which is quite a feat considering he is nearly a foot taller. She's got one arm sliding under his shoulder, hand cradling the back of his head, her fingers tangled in his hair. The other is more or less slung about his waist, the hand behind him resting on his arse, one finger centred precisely at the top of his crack doing delicious things to him as it shifts slightly with his every breath. Her head rests on his breastbone, turned to the side so that every time she exhales, the slight stirring of air teases his nipple. Her curly hair tickles the other side of his chest continuously as it rises and falls with his breathing. Her legs, too, are entwined with his. She's still halfway astride him, her left leg drawn up, the sole of her foot tucked under the back of his thigh, her toes kneading the muscle as they wiggle in her sleep. Her right leg extends between his, sliding under his calf, the sole of that foot cupping his heel.

Even in her sleep, she is rhythmically and very slightly rocking her hips, rubbing against his thigh with every breath. Lucas is a little bit mortified and a little bit flattered and a little bit fascinated. He would happily lie here and watch, except that he really needs to void his bladder, and now that he is aware of her breath and hair teasing his nipples, her foot kneading his thigh, and the finger at the crack of his arse driving him mad, and, _Oh_, her hip rubbing against his half-hard-now-instantly-fully-swollen member as she moves against him, he's afraid that if he doesn't go soon, he will make a mess of the bed before she finishes. _That_ thought has him suddenly and completely mortified.

"Josie?" he gasps. Between her weight on his chest and the things she is doing to him, a gasp is the best he can do.

"Josie!" he repeats, and shakes her slightly.

_That_ was a mistake. It makes her hair shift and her breathing stutter against his chest, her toes and fingers clench, the one at the cleft of his arse doing the most amazing things as her whole body presses more tightly against his, meaning the subtle rubbing of her groin against his thigh and her hip against his groin becomes more of a grinding action.

"Oh, Christ!" he whispers, and it may be more a prayer for strength than profanity.

"Josie!" he barks, and shakes her firmly.

Startled, she comes fully awake in an instant and as she pulls her right leg up to kneel astride his thigh, she narrowly misses thumping him in the privates.

Lucas winces and gasps, sighs in relief.

Seeing he is in distress, she asks, "Lucas, what's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Loo, now," he grunts, and gently pushes her off him so he can clamber out of bed and make his escape.

AS LUCAS IS RELIEVING HIMSELF, Boo magically appears and begins circling about his ankles in a figure of eight. It's a kind of stimulation he can't tolerate right now, and he gently nudges the cat away.

"Later, mate," he grunts.

Soft, tanned arms circle his waist, and a kiss is placed on his back, centred between his shoulder blades in a spot that makes chills run up and down his spine.

"Does that apply to me, too?" Josie purrs.

"Noooo," he sighs.

"Mmmm," she hums and gives him a little squeeze. "I was having the nicest dream when you woke me," she pouts against his back.

Finishing his business, Lucas turns to her and says, "It wasn't entirely a dream, love."

"Huh?"

Clearly she's drifting back into the haze of slumber, so Lucas takes her hand and runs one of her fingers through the wetness she left on his thigh. It takes several seconds for her to understand the implications of the slippery substance on her fingers, but when she does, to Lucas's amusement and delight, she blushes from the tops of her breasts to the tips of her ears.

"I'd have been happy to let you finish," he says, "but by the time your dream entered my reality, I needed to use the facilities too badly to wait."

Seeing his smug look, she pokes him in the ribs looking for a ticklish spot.

"Bastard," she curses him affectionately. Then she gets a confused look. "My dream entered your reality?"

"By the time I woke up, I was already participating," he say indicating his still semi-aroused state, "unintentionally, but certainly not unwillingly."

Josie's blush deepens, and she leans her forehead against Lucas's breastbone. Her curls fall forward to shield her face.

"In about two seconds, I am going to prove it's possible to die of embarrassment," she mutters.

"Don't you dare," Lucas chuckles, wrapping her in a hug. "It's really rather flattering. It just, er, came, at an inconvenient time. Pardon the pun."

Still hiding behind the curtain of her hair, Josie mulls that over. After a moment, she begins to giggle. Then she reaches down and takes his partially-erect member in hand.

"Judging by the state of you, it never really came at all," she says, eliciting a groan as her hand glides gently along his length. Then she does something that makes him whimper with pleasure, but he isn't sure what because he has closed his eyes and can't seem to force them open. "Maybe we should do something about that."

"Shower," Lucas growls, capable of scooping her up into his arms and taking her with him now that she has let him go and he can open his eyes.

"Are you sure?" Josie is hesitant.

"Positive," Lucas assures her.

"_THE WALLS OF THIS OLD HOUSE ARE VERY THICK,_" Alexei tells Lucas when he comes down for a breakfast of sausage gravy over something like savoury scones, which that Josie calls biscuits, "_But I think you should know that the indoor toilets and baths were added later._"

"Shit," Lucas hisses as he feels his face warm red.

"What?" Josie asks.

"Nothing," Lucas tells her, slicing one of the savoury scones open, buttering it liberally and smothering it in gravy.

She looks from him to Alexei.

"Liar," she smirks.

Alexei picks up on the tone, if not the meaning, and snorts with laughter.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Lucas asks, taking a bite. It's warm and hearty and delicious, and he can feel his arteries hardening even as he chews. She must be spoiling them because they are her guests. There's no way she can eat like this all the time and maintain her figure.

"Well, Zurich is six hours ahead of us," she says. "It's just past two in the afternoon there. I thought I'd work out the exact stipulations of that bank account and then get it set up. I have a friend we can call.

"While I'm working on that, maybe you can compose an e-mail to Harry about that document indemnifying me against civil action related to your mission. I imagine someone at either the British consulate or the embassy would have the authority to sign it on behalf of your government. By the time the e-mail is ready, I will have an address to which a properly authorized, notarized, signed, and witnessed hard copy can be delivered. Once my lawyer has seen it and assured me it is legitimate and enforceable, and after I have verified that the funds are in my account, we can contact Harry a final time with the plan and get things rolling."

Lucas is strangely disappointed that she is getting right back to business. For some inexplicable reason, he had been expecting her to want to dally with more domestic chores or playing with the cat or taking him for a walk around the property or even just disappearing into the bedroom for the rest of the day. Of course, he knows that he should be more eager than she is to get his mission back underway, but he can't bring himself to care that he isn't.

The previous day had been so ordinary and normal. What should have been boring was refreshing and energizing. As relaxing as the Little League games had been, he was still working then. Since the night before last, Josie had been in charge and that had taken all the pressure off him. He'd not forgotten his mission, but he didn't have to do anything about it either.

"Something wrong?" Josie asked.

"No," Lucas said. "Just, for an insane moment, I thought I was getting used to the bucolic life."

"Bucolic?" Josie echoes incredulously. "You realise it's only a two-mile drive to town, don't you?"

"It feels like it's a world away," he replies. "I sort of envy you, but I think I would eventually go mad with boredom."

"If you did all the things I do in a typical week, I think you would be too busy to get bored," she says. "If you could keep up."

Lucas catches her teasing tone and throws it right back at her.

"I think I proved last night and this morning that I could keep up," he says.

"For a few hours, yeah," Josie scoffs. "I doubt you could manage it for a week."

"I'd love the chance to try," Lucas mutters. Then he looks up, startled that he has said it aloud.

"I'd love that, too," Josie agrees sadly, "but it isn't in the cards for us."

Again responding to the tone of the conversation, Alexei tells Lucas, "_Enjoy the moment, my friend. Let the future worry about itself._"

Lucas tries for a smirk and says, "_That's what I'm trying to do, but I can't forget that it's my job to get you safely back to the London._"

"_I appreciate that,_" Alexei says, "_but there is little you can do until a new plan is organized. Ask her what I can do to help today._"

Lucas relays his question.

"Do with the laptop the same thing you did yesterday," Josie says. "Do it with mine as well, you'll find it in the bottom drawer of the desk in the study, but move everything a hundred miles to the southeast, towards the Washington, D.C. area. It will keep Harry guessing about our true location. After that, unless you want to do my housework, there isn't much else for you to do."

Lucas gives Alexei her reply, then asks, "_By the way, what happened to the translation app_?"

"_Oh, yes, so happy you asked!_" Alexei responds enthusiastically. He pulls the smart phone out of his hip pocket and says, "_I drained the battery playing Angry Birds. Where do I recharge it_?"

For several moments, all Lucas can do is laugh. This must be the strangest mission he has ever had, bar none.

"KLAUS, HOW ARE YOU OLD FRIEND?" Josie greets the banker on the video chat from her laptop.

"Very well, Major Slater," he says enthusiastically. "As is Katya. Did you know we're expecting?"

"Really? That's wonderful."

"Yes, _twins_, around Christmas," he tells her.

"Twins?" Josie echoes. "Congratulations, Klaus, I'm very happy for you. Klaus, this is my friend, Robert Wheeler."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wheeler," Klaus replies.

"Please, Robert will be just fine," Lucas assures him.

"Certainly, and you may call me Klaus," the banker responds.

"And when are you going to start calling me Josie, Klaus?" she asks.

"I am sorry, but that will not happen until pigs fly," Klaus says. "After what you did for my Katya and me, you made quite an impression, and so you will be always Major Slater to us."

Klaus's gaze shifts slightly, and he speaks to Lucas, saying, "I was working in our bank's branch in Algiers and my Katya was a marine working in the Defence Attaché Office at the United States Embassy. We were young, foolish, in love, and indiscreet. It made it easy for someone to frame us for diverting humanitarian aid from the Kurds to the black market. The Major resolved the mystery and saved us both, Robert, and any friend of hers is a friend of mine.

"I got the file you sent, and the account has already been set up," he resumes speaking to Josie. "I just need your authorization, Major, to activate it."

"That's excellent, Klaus," Josie tells him. "I just want to add one more stipulation, first."

Lucas scowls at her. He does not like surprises.

"What is that?"

"Permission for the bank to give Robert a current balance and complete transaction history any time he asks," Josie says. "Robert, do you know your passport number, or do you need to go get it?"

Lucas grins at her, grateful that she has given him this access. It will put Harry more at ease to know he can keep track of the money.

"I know the number," he says.

"Just a moment," Klaus says.

Under the desk, Lucas reaches over and squeezes Josie's hand in a silent thank you. She winks at him.

"I am ready now," Klaus says.

Lucas rattles off the number for him and answers a few other questions. Then the whole document describing the stipulations on the account is sent back for Josie's approval. Once she is satisfied that it contains everything she wants, Klaus sends her a link, which she can use to activate the account.

"And it is now active," Klaus tells them once she has followed the link. "You should be receiving an e-mail with the routing, branch, and account numbers at any moment."

A pop-up advises Josie that she has mail, she checks it, and thanks Klaus.

"Anything for you, Major Slater," he says, and then takes a grave tone for the first time. "Having read the stipulations, I gather that you are in difficult circumstances right now. Please, be careful, and if there is anything more that Katya and I can do for you, do not hesitate to call on us."

"Thank you, Klaus," Josie says sincerely. "You can always pray for me, my friend."

ONCE THE ACCOUNT IS ESTABLISHED, Josie reads the e-mail Lucas has composed for Harry. She makes a few changes, adding instructions to have a Pennsylvania lawyer specializing in personal injury cases help craft the document and providing detailed instructions for leaving it in a locker at a local bowling alley and where to hide the key. The final line advises Harry that they will be contacting him by video chat in one hour with the account number for the funds transfer and to get his decision on the indemnity. Josie asks Lucas for his opinion of what she has done. He thinks she is going a bit over the top, but he has to agree that it makes sense to legally protect herself as much as she can considering she doesn't work for MI-5, is not a British citizen, and can't depend on the British government for protection without a contract of some sort.

They send Harry the e-mail and spend the hour finalizing their plans.

"The thing that worries me most is the car chase the other night," Lucas says. "If someone got your license number or if there is even one identifiable CCTV image of you driving that car…"

"We've talked about this," Josie says with exaggerated patience. "It can't be helped. I'll just have to be very careful with the police once they discover the car. I won't lie to them, and I won't give them any information they don't already have. If they ask me questions I can't answer honestly without incriminating myself, I will ask if they are charging me, and if not, I will politely thank them for their time and ask when and where I can collect the vehicle. If they charge me, well, that's where the British taxpayers come in."

"That's easy enough to say here and now," Lucas says. "What happens when they call you down to the station to collect it and take you into the interview room under the pretence of completing some paperwork to get it back and then start grilling you? Even if you don't go to jail, a criminal charge can ruin your good name."

"Lucas, you need to let this go," Josie insists gently. "I was a military cop for nearly half my life. I have conducted more interrogations that I care to remember. I know what the rules are, I know what tricks the cops use to circumvent them, and I know how to stop them from doing it. If I do go to jail or ruin my reputation, at least I will know in my own heart that what I did was right. It's a risk I'm willing to take. You just have to let me."

"Yeah. Right. Ok," he agrees. Then, "Why don't you just come to the UK with me until my government works out all the immunity agreements?"

"Because school starts in less than a week and I am not going to leave my principal in need of an English teacher," Josie says with a roll of her eyes. "Now. Let. It. Go."

Lucas presses a hand to his mouth. He wants to argue, but he doesn't know what else to say. He heaves a big sigh of resignation.

"All right," he says. "I'll let it go, but I want you to know I am not happy about it."

"Noted," Josie says with a crisp nod.

THE CONVERSATION WITH HARRY TAKES AN INTERESTING TURN. Lucas learns more about Josie, and while he doesn't mind that she has kept something else from him, he's more than a little peeved with Harry for dragging it out just to put her off balance. Ruth is standing in the frame, just as she was before, probably taking notes, and Lucas can't help but be a little annoyed with her as well because she probably found the information for Harry.

"I'd like to speak to my officer before I answer you," Harry says after Josie greets him and asks whether he has the money she demanded and will provide the letter of indemnity she requested.

"I let you speak to him yesterday," Josie says. "He told you then that he was fine."

"I know that," Harry said. "But before I can seriously consider any of your requests, I need to have more than a yes or no conversation with him."

"Now, why in the world would I let you do that?" Josie asks in a playful tone.

"Because any woman who would speak on behalf of her rapists must be reasonable, at the very least," Harry responds in such an off-hand way that Lucas wants to reach through the screen and strike him.

_What?_ Lucas nearly says the word aloud. _Why didn't she tell me? Why would she have done such a thing? _

Alexei gasps quietly and covers his mouth with his hand. His eyes go wide in surprise. Lucas grinds his teeth. He can't help himself. He's pissed off with Harry for pulling the stunt and annoyed with Alexei for playing into the drama Josie is trying to avoid.

Josie ignores them both. The only indication that she might be mildly upset or surprised is a long, silent breath before she speaks.

"Well, you certainly have done your homework, haven't you?" she says in a condescending tone. "Those records were supposed to be sealed."

"They still are, officially," Harry tells her. "But I have my ways."

Lucas's mind is besieged with so many questions and concerns that he has to work to concentrate on the conversation.

_Now that I know, does she expect me to ask her about it?_ he wonders.

_Idiot, of course she does, _he realises. _The question is: Does she actually _want_ you to ask about it, or would she prefer you to ignore it? _

"If it is any consolation, the fact that the head of the CIA operation here in London viewed your act of compassion with a certain amount of disdain was a point in your favour as far as I am concerned," Harry tells her congenially.

_Maybe it's too painful for her to talk about,_ Lucas thinks. _More painful than the rape itself? What did she hope to achieve by speaking in their behalf? To whom was she speaking? Was there a trial? What did Harry mean about compassion? What the hell is the CIA doing giving Harry access to sealed American military records anyway?_

Josie chuckles.

"I've dealt with the CIA a few times myself," she says. "I know exactly what you mean."

"I didn't think the CIA had the authority to run operations within the United States," Harry responds.

"They don't, but I've run investigation at US installations overseas. Besides, Harry, based on the CIA officers you've met, do you think a little thing like jurisdictional restrictions would stop them?" Josie asks as she pulls up her e-mail.

"I very much doubt it," Harry admits. "So, may I speak with my officer, now?"

Josie sighs dramatically and copies the Swiss account numbers.

"I assume the two of you have some prearranged code by which you will ask him if he is all right and he will answer," Josie says, bringing up the e-mail window from which Lucas sent the request for the indemnity letter.

Smirking, Harry replies, "Naturally."

"And then you'll ask if he is under duress, and he'll reply," she continues, sounding almost bored as she types in the password Lucas was sure he had managed to conceal from her.

"Of course."

"Then what?"

She pastes the account number into an e-mail addressed to Harry.

"Then we'll see what we can do about granting your requests."

"Not good enough," Josie says. "I'm taking a risk just having him under my roof. We've discussed that. You want to talk to him, you give me the five million dollars first. You have two minutes to decide."

With that, she sends him the account number and closes the chat window.

"How did you get my password?" Lucas asks. Two minutes isn't nearly time enough to talk about the other thing.

Josie chuckles.

"A little bird told me," she says as she goes back into her own e-mail to wait for the notification of the deposit.

"Not funny," Lucas says. "I need to know for future security."

She rolls her eyes. "When I showed Alexei where to charge the phone, I asked him to rig the laptop to send your keystrokes to my phone as text messages every time you hit enter. Once you sent him the login and password, he e-mailed them to me from the phone.

"The mix of numbers and letters is a good security measure," she says, "but anyone who knows your interest in Blake might guess J3ru5a13m for _Jerusalem. _You might try something you can't find in a link on Wikipedia like some alphanumeric variation on Theotormon or 'Infant Joy'."

Lucas smirks and shakes his head.

"Nobody likes a know-it-all."

Josie shrugs.

"If only that were my worst fault," she says.

"So why didn't you just ask me to log in for you?" Lucas asks.

"I didn't think you would," is the reply, "and once I'd asked you, you would be on guard against my getting into the account. I mean, it's one thing to set up the video chat for me and let me use it to speak to your boss, but giving me access to your e-mail account is something altogether different. There's no telling what you could have in your inbox."

"You could have just asked me to set up the e-mail for you," Lucas says. "All you would have had to do was push a button to send it."

Josie blushes slightly.

"I didn't think of that," she admits sheepishly.

Lucas can only laugh at her. "Some know it all," he says.

"Why is that funny?"

"Up until now, you have had everything so meticulously planned and organized," he explains. "I have to admit, I've really been impressed, maybe even a little intimidated, but this, well, to make something so simple so ridiculously complicated…I'm sorry, it just amuses me. You're too clever for your own good."

"Well, I just live to entertain you, don't I?" she says sarcastically, but the smirk takes away any sting her words might otherwise have held.

A tone from the laptop indicates that she has received mail, and at the same time, the video chat starts chiming to tell them Harry is calling back.

"Shh!" she tells Lucas.

Then she checks her inbox. There is an automated message confirming the deposit of five million US dollars. With a satisfied smile, she forwards the details of the account terms to Harry from her own e-mail with a heading that says A GESTURE OF GOODWILL_._

Resuming the video chat, she tells Harry, "You have mail."

Harry frowns. Lucas can see his movements as he brings up his e-mail and reads it. He tries hard to control his expression, but Lucas knows him too well. He is surprised and very pleased to discover that Josie hasn't requested the funds for her personal profit.

"Well, now I just have to hope you can deliver what you promised," Harry grumbles. "I want to speak to my officer now."

This time, Lucas and Josie swap seats rather than turning the laptop around.

"Hello, Harry," Lucas says with a grin. He's honestly pleased to see his boss and hopeful that they can begin to work together soon.

"Lucas," Harry says, and the relief in his voice is undisguised. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I've been treated well," Lucas says. "So has Alexei."

"Is he there with you now?" Harry asks.

"Right beside me, yes," Lucas says, and turns the laptop so Harry can see him.

Ruth and Alexei exchange a few words about his health, Elena and Max, and the security of the data, and then Alexei turns the camera back on Lucas.

"So what went wrong?" Harry asks.

It is the question Lucas has been dreading, but he makes no bones about answering it.

"The short answer is that someone found out where I was meeting Alexei and tried to get to him before me," Lucas said. "The complete answer is that we came in here with a bad Plan A, no Plan B, and apparently trusting the wrong people. When someone found out where I was meeting Alexei and tried to abduct him, Colonel Slater saved us. I've spent the better part of the last two days trying to imagine a way that my initial meeting with her could have been orchestrated, and it just doesn't seem possible. I believe she is legitimately trying to help us."

"For what reason?"

"I've asked her that," Lucas says. "She says she believes it's the right thing to do. Whatever her reasons, her plan is a hell of a lot better than ours, and she's taking all the risks. Elena and Max are protected, Alexei and I get out of the country clean, we might have a chance at catching the mole that exposed us, and if there's any fallout, it all comes back on Colonel Slater."

"So, what exactly is her plan?" Harry asks.

"That's something we'll all discuss together once I have that letter of indemnity," Josie interrupts, turning the laptop so the camera faces her.

"Yes, well, has it occurred to you that I would be more willing to provide that letter once I know for what, exactly, my government will have to insure you?" Harry asked.

"As a matter of fact, it has," Josie told him. "But since someone was _shooting_ at me when I offered your people a lift, and since my plan involves supplying you with geographical coordinates that would allow you _or_ your mole to hunt me down, you're just going to have to take a leap of faith. I am not taking any more legal or physical risks until I know I have the protection of the British government."

Then she turns the laptop back to Lucas, cutting off whatever argument Harry might have offered.

Lucas has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when he sees Harry, open-mouthed and suddenly having no one with whom to argue. He lowers his gaze for a moment as much to keep himself from smirking as to allow his boss time to recover.

"She's putting herself in quite a lot of peril just to do the right thing, don't you think?" Harry asks.

Lucas looks up at him.

"We do it all the time, don't we?" he challenges. "God knows we don't get paid what we're worth."

"But we _do_ get paid. It's our job," Harry insists. "What's her motive?"

Now Lucas has to bite his lip to keep from cursing.

Looking up at Josie where she stands to his left, just off camera, he asks, "Could I speak to him privately, just for a moment, please?"

When Josie frowns, he says, "I won't discuss the plan with him. I just…need to speak candidly. It will only take a minute."

Josie nods and gestures for Alexei to follow her out of the room. They shut the door behind them.

"All right, let's get it out in the open," Lucas says. "I know I displayed spectacularly bad judgment with Sarah Caufield; but you either trust my instincts or you don't, Harry, and if you don't, you never should have sent me here. Now, I'm here and you're not. I trust Colonel Slater. I ate her food, drank her wine, and slept under her roof. She only wants to do the right thing, and she's only being overly cautious because she's intelligent enough to know she's playing a dangerous game with no safety net.

"I can understand why you might not get that," Lucas continues. "Spies are suspicious by nature. It's a job requirement, and it keeps us alive. So don't trust her, Harry. Trust me, or don't. Either we give Josie the protection she's asking for and work with her starting now, or Alexei and I gather our things and leave immediately. I'd rather not be out there on my own knowing there is a mole at work, but I will not put her at further risk while we mess about looking for an ulterior motive where there isn't any."

Harry glowers at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"You're that confident that she's trustworthy?" Harry asks.

"I'm staking my life on it," Lucas tells him.

"And you had to speak to me privately to tell me that," Harry observes. "Why?"

Lucas thinks about his reply.

"Because under the circumstances, my speaking to you so frankly could seem disrespectful to an outsider," he explains.

"And are you certain it really was private?" Harry asks.

"Do you mean, is the room bugged?" Lucas asks. "No. Not a chance."

"You sound quite certain."

"More certain than I would be sitting in your office," Lucas tells him. "I read the files on Yalta."

"I see," Harry says, ignoring the dig as he rubs a hand thoughtfully over his face. "And you're confident that her plan will work."

"I am," Lucas says firmly. "Even if our mole does get wind of it, it gives us certain advantages that would be very hard for anyone else to surmount, Josie herself being first among those advantages."

"Well, then, unless you have something else to tell me, we're finished for the day. You can tell _Josie_ she'll have her letter before noon tomorrow, local time," Harry says.

Lucas feels himself blush slightly when Harry emphasizes her familiar name. He doesn't know when he started using it, but it's a definite tell that he's become comfortable with her. Still, Harry is agreeing to go along with her plan, so they can't have appeared too cosy.

"I'd very much appreciate it if she could get it to her lawyer and contact me before ten p.m. London time," Harry continues. "She may have a few days left of her summer holiday, but I have to get up and go to work in the morning."

Lucas tries not to grin and he nods and says, "I'll let her know. Thank you, Harry."

"And Lucas," Harry says as Lucas is reaching out to the keyboard to end the chat.

"Yes?" Lucas pauses, dreading the anticipated comment about becoming too involved with an asset.

"I do trust your judgement, Lucas," Harry says sincerely. "You wouldn't be there if I didn't."

Lucas smiles at the image on the screen and gives a small nod. "Thank you, Harry. Until tomorrow, then. Goodbye."

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	16. The Grand Tour

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Fifteen: The Grand Tour_

WHEN LUCAS EMERGES FROM THE OFFICE, Josie and Alexei look at him expectantly.

"Make an appointment with your lawyer for tomorrow after lunch," Lucas tells Josie. "You'll have the letter you requested by noon, and Harry would like to hear back from us before ten, London time, which would be five o'clock here."

"That's it?" Josie frowns.

"Was there something else you required?" Lucas asks her, trying not to sound smug.

"Well, no," she says reluctantly. "I just…"

"You just what?"

Josie turns slightly red.

"I know it's childish, but I was looking forward to harassing him a little more," she admits.

Lucas laughs aloud.

"I would say you are shameless, but at least you have the grace to blush when you say that," he tells her. "Why do you take such pleasure in giving him a hard time?"

Josie shrugs.

"I don't know," she says. "I think it's just that he seems so unflappable. I want to see if I can flap him."

She gives Lucas an impish grin, and he has to laugh again.

"I honestly don't know what to make of you, you know that?" he says.

"It's too late to make anything of me other than what I already am," Josie replies a bit more seriously. "I am what I am, I have been all my life, and it is far too late to change now."

From her tone, Lucas wonders if there is some subtext he is missing, but he decides not to ask. If Josie wants him to know, she will tell him when she is ready. Until then, it really is none of his business.

"So, what now?" he finally asks.

"Well, it is lunchtime," Josie says. "I thought we might have BLT sandwiches, if that suits you, and then I'll show the two of you around the property like a good hostess should have done the first day you were here."

MANY HANDS MAKE LIGHT THE WORK. Within the hour, Lucas, Alexei, and Josie have a hearty lunch of bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches made with tomatoes still warm from the sun in Josie's garden and bacon that her father smoked and cured from a hog he raised and butchered himself. They have potato crisps on the side, which Josie calls chips, and she sticks her tongue out when Lucas playfully corrects her. For dessert there is a fresh fruit salad dressed with some kind of yoghurt and cream cheese concoction that Josie puts together too quickly for Lucas to identify all of the ingredients. It's an altogether lovely meal, and Lucas makes it a point to say so.

"Well, with Alexei cooking the bacon, there wasn't much for me to mess up," Josie tells him.

Lucas sighs and glares at her.

"What?"

"Can't you just take the compliment?"

"Oh." Josie blushes. "Well, er, thank you."

Lucas smirks.

"You're welcome."

As they clear the table and wash the dishes, Lucas becomes pensive. It's not the first time Josie has deflected a compliment, and he wonders why she is uncomfortable accepting praise. He doesn't know her well enough to speculate about the reasons for her behaviour, nor does he think it would be appropriate to ask her outright. Still, he can't help but wonder.

"You're awfully quiet," Josie teases as she bumps hips with Lucas while they stand together at the sink. He is washing and rinsing the dishes, she is taking them from the drain board, drying them, and putting them away.

"Just thinking," he says.

"About?"

After a brief moment considering whether he should tell her the truth, another thought pops into his head. This one is no less likely to cause friction, but it's business, not personal, so if it does annoy her, at least she will likely get over it faster.

"I was wondering," he begins tentatively, "since Harry has agreed to work with you, as another gesture of good faith, could you perhaps contact your friend with the police asking him to put a man in with Max and Elena now rather than waiting until the letter comes tomorrow?"

"As a gesture of good faith, you say," Josie smirks. "I should think the fact that you are unharmed would be more than enough good faith for Harry, at least for now."

Having heard the names of his wife and son, Alexei has stopped clearing the table and is listening intently to the conversation. Lucas now wishes he had kept his mouth shut. If he had asked the question privately and she had refused, he could have let it go. With Alexei here, he almost has to get Josie to agree, just for the other man's peace of mind, and if she is not inclined to give in he must also give her a way to save face.

"I'm just concerned that if they are truly at risk, the sooner we get them protection, the better," he says.

"I agree," Josie says, "so I do hope Harry hurries with that letter and gets it right the first time."

"But they don't even know that they need to be wary of anything," Lucas argues. "They are completely defenceless."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Josie says. "Max has a heck of a swing for an eleven year old. You saw him play. You know it's true."

At a snort from Alexei, Lucas turns and scowls at him. When Josie chuckles, he looks back at her and glares.

"What am I missing?" he demands.

"With his wife and son in danger do you really think Alexei would sit around playing Angry Birds all this time?" Josie asks. Looking to the Russian, she continues, "Do you want to tell him or shall I?"

Alexei glances at the translation on the telephone and nods.

"_That first night, when she left you here, she introduced me to one of her policeman friends,"_ he says. "_He has a son Max's age. We talked, using the phone. He is a good man. I like him and I trust him. He agreed to make sure Max and Elena would have police protecting them from the moment I was reported missing. They have not been alone at all._"

"You've had someone with them all along?" Lucas asks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Then he has a moment of panic.

"Exactly what did you tell your friend to get him to help?" His voice is sharper than he means it to be, but hell, she's just told him she has shared information pertaining to a highly sensitive mission with an unvetted outside source. What does she expect?

Josie smirks.

"And that is why I didn't tell you," she says. "I didn't give him all the details, but I didn't lie. I don't lie. I _won't_ lie. But I had to tell him enough for him to understand the risks involved."

"So I ask again, what _did_ you tell him?" Lucas demands with strained patience.

"I told him Alexei was seeking asylum, that he was bringing with him information that could shut down numerous criminal enterprises, that his disappearance was going to be treated as a missing person case, that Elena and Max would not know the truth until they were reunited with Alexei after the investigation stalled and they had to return home, that one of my associates was shepherding Alexei to safety, that there appeared to be a mole on the team because someone tried to abduct you and Alexei, and that my associate turned to me for help because of my local resources and connections. I explained that we had no idea who the mole was, that Max and Elena had no idea they might be in danger, and that we needed someone we could trust with them at all times to keep them safe. I also told him that the FBI was your main point of contact for the mission."

"So all you left out was that your associate is an MI-5 officer intent on bypassing customs, immigration, and TSA officials to spirit Alexei out of the country, is that right?" Lucas asks sarcastically.

"That's right," she says. "I realized you wouldn't approve of my bringing someone else into the operation, but I wasn't going to sleep that night without knowing Max and Elena had adequate protection. Once it was all settled, I decided to wait and see how long it would take you to ask about them. Then I realized it would also strengthen my position with Harry to have their protection already arranged if he asked about it. It would show that I am acting in good faith."

Lucas feels his guts knotting up. This is not good. This is worse than not good. This is bad. This is dangerous. This is everything running away from him, and absurdly enough, Lucas's biggest worry is that Josie will think badly of him for not being more concerned with Max and Elena's safety. With that thought, he realizes that his priorities are completely out of order, and yet he is helpless to change them.

This is really _very_ bad.

Turning to Alexei, he demands again, "_Why didn't _you_ tell me_?"

"_She asked me not to_," Alexei says. "_As long as she is taking care of my son, I will do anything she asks._"

"I meant it when I said I was helping you because there's a kid involved," Josie says. "If Harry had refused my every request, I still would have done everything I could to make sure Max is safe."

"You should have told me!" Lucas growls. "The more people who know, the more potential there is for something to go wrong."

"Something already has gone wrong," Josie tells him. "That's why you're here."

Lucas glares at her, but there is no way he can argue the point.

"It will be all right," she insists. "Connor served under me for eight years. I know him, and more importantly, I trust him, with my life. All you have to do is trust me."

Lucas takes a deep breath.

_You either do or you don't, _he tells himself. _If you don't, you need to collect Alexei and take your things and get the hell out of here right now._

_And you need to make that decision with the right head._

He glances at Josie who is waiting patiently for his response. She doesn't seem angry with him for doubting her or disappointed that he didn't think of Max and Elena's safety sooner. It's as if she already understands his reactions and is only waiting for him to sort through them himself.

He thinks back to last night, how calm and comforting her presence was when he told her about Russia; how relieved he felt, like a huge, crushing weight had been lifted off his chest, after he finally fell apart in her embrace; how open and frank she'd been when she told him about her experience in Somalia. He'd had very strong feelings for her then, and ultimately, they'd had nothing to do with his sex drive. Until she asked about his feelings for her, he would have been content to spend the rest of the night just sleeping in her arms.

"_I'm sorry_," he finally says to Alexei.

"_What for_?"

"_For being selfish,_" Lucas tells him. "_All this time, I have been enjoying her hospitality and her company…_"

"_And her bed,_" Alexei adds, somehow managing not to sound judgemental.

"_Yes,_" Lucas acknowledges, "_when I should have been more concerned about the safety of your wife and son._"

"_You have nothing to apologize for, my friend,_" Alexei tells him. "_You were following my lead. Your reaction now tells me you would have worried more for them if I had seemed worried at all. You have taken on a great responsibility in getting my family and me to safety. Perhaps you needed not to worry for a while."_

"_That obvious, am I_?" Lucas says wryly.

"_That intense_," comes the reply. "_Now that the matter is settled, why don't you relax and enjoy the rest of the day? I suspect the situation will become stressful again soon._"

"_You are very calm, considering the circumstances,_" Lucas says.

"_My wife and son have been in danger since the day Max was born,_" Alexei tells him. "_Since the day I started collecting my information. I have learned to live with it. They are safer now than they have been in years."_

Lucas feels something twist in his gut. It must have been a horrible way to live.

"_Thank you for understanding my…negligence_," he finally says.

Alexei grins.

"_It is all right,"_ he assures Lucas. "_I have had the Angry Birds to entertain me._"

Lucas isn't sure whether Alexei is deliberately misunderstanding him now, and he doesn't want to ask. It's bad enough that he forgot all about the man's wife and child while he was shagging their hostess, to point it out would be utterly tactless. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Turning to Josie, he finally admits, "You did the right thing. I only wish that you had told me."

"I'm sorry I didn't," she tells him.

"You don't have to apologize," Lucas tells her, "but from now on, at least when it comes to the mission, no more secrets, no more games, and _no more surprises_, all right?"

She nods.

"All right," she agrees, taking him by the hand. "Come with me."

LUCAS IS MILDLY SURPRISED when Josie leads him into the den and sits him down on one end of the sofa. When she motioned for Alexei to join them, he had thought she was beginning the tour of the property she had promised earlier. Instead, she gestures for Alexei to sit opposite Lucas and crosses the room to get a photo album from the bookshelf before coming to sit between them.

"This isn't a secret," she tells them. "It's just something that doesn't come up in normal conversation, but since Harry mentioned it, I will tell you."

"You don't have to," Lucas says. "That's not what I meant by not keeping secrets."

"I know," she replies. "If you don't want to hear it, I don't have to tell you, but you both were obviously curious and too polite to ask. I don't mind talking about it and probably would have told you last night, but we had, er, moved on to other things before I got around to telling you."

Lucas smiles at her.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," he reminds her, "but I will listen to whatever you want to say."

Josie nods.

"Just do me a favour and tell Harry that I think he's a hateful bastard for bringing it up just to try to break my composure on a video chat," she says. "You know I'm ok with talking about what happened to me, but he didn't."

Lucas smirks.

"I'll make sure he gets the message."

Then Josie turns to Alexei and quickly brings him up to speed.

"In the early 1990s, my unit was deployed to Somalia as part of a UN initiative to try to get the various warlords to disarm and enter into peace talks," she explains. "One of our primary responsibilities was to provide support and protection for aid workers. On one of our patrols, another member of my unit and I were captured by one of the local gangs intending to exchange us for money and guns. During my captivity, I was gang-raped by a half a dozen young men among the group."

"_I'm so sorry,_" Alexei says.

When Lucas translates, Josie smiles and says, "Thank you. I appreciate your compassion, but honestly, I can't say I suffered any worse that the male captain who was captured with me. It was just one of several tortures we had to endure.

"Most of the ones who took turns at me were young men nineteen or twenty years old. They were old enough to know that what they were doing was wrong and big enough to resist if someone tried to force them.

"But there were two of them, brothers, orphans, barely into puberty, maybe eleven or twelve years old, who were with the gang because they had nowhere else to go, no one to look after them. I think they were as frightened as I was, but the older boys were forcing them on me, taunting them, telling them it was time to become men, threatening to amputate their genitals if they couldn't perform because they didn't know how to use them. One of the boys was actually crying as he did what they told him to do, and when he was finished, he went off in the corner and vomited."

Opening the photo album to a page in the middle, she points to a picture of two skinny, barefoot young boys in school uniforms, short pants, white shirts, and neckties. They're all knees and elbows and brilliant grins. The taller one has an ugly scar that runs down the front of his thigh, across his knee, and around his lower leg.

"This is Ghedi," she says, pointing to the taller one. "And this," she indicates the smaller boy, "is his brother Shermarke.

"When the captain and I were rescued, our commanding officer turned the surviving gang members, including Ghedi and Shermarke, over to the nearest village, one of several they had been terrorising for a couple of years," Josie continues. "The village council had a trial of sorts, and they were all convicted. The elders decided to punish them according to Somali law at the time. Every single one of them was sentenced to be executed.

"I heard about it the day before the sentence was to be carried out and after quite a discussion with my CO, got permission to make a special request to address the village council.

"I didn't know the boys' names at the time, so I had to go into the hut where they were being held and find them. Ghedi had been wounded in the rescue operation, so I had to carry him out in my arms.

"I told the council how they were forced, that they were only with the gang because they had to survive," she says. "I told them that Somalia's future lay in its children and that they had to give these two another chance if there was to be any hope at all for their country. I literally begged the elders on my knees for their lives.

"They agreed to spare Ghedi and Shermarke. There was a Catholic missionary school not far from the village, and my unit took up a collection to provide them with books, clothes, and food. We actually managed to collect enough funds to create a small endowment for the boys, nothing extravagant, just enough to keep them clothed and fed and to supply their school books and materials until they completed their education.

"The brothers at the school helped the boys keep in touch with me. Ghedi became a teacher. Now he works for UNICEF teaching English, French, mathematics, and geography in refugee schools in Africa and the Middle East. Shermarke returned to the gang when he was sixteen and was dead before he turned seventeen.

"That's what Harry was talking about when he said I spoke on behalf of my rapists."

"You did a good thing for those boys," Lucas says.

Josie shrugs.

"I just did the right thing," she replied. "They were as much victims of the gang as I was. They didn't deserve to be punished, let alone executed. I only wish Shermarke had taken advantage of the opportunity as well Ghedi did. I wish I could have done more for him."

"You did what you could," Lucas says. "For both of them. You can't be responsible for the choices they made for themselves."

"_Tell her she's batting .500_," Alexei says. "_That's better than anybody in the Major Leagues._"

Lucas has no clue what he's saying, but he translates it anyway, and when Josie bursts out laughing, Alexei joins her.

"Would one of you care to translate that for somebody who doesn't speak baseball?" Lucas says in confusion.

"Anything over a .300 batting average is very good in Major League Baseball," Josie tells him.

"_Batting .500 is unheard of,_" Alexei adds.

"In fact, Ty Cobb had the highest batting average in MLB history, at .366 over twenty-odd seasons."

"Well, there you have it, then." Lucas tells her. "You're an All-Star."

JOSIE'S FAMILY, LUCAS LEARNS, became abolitionists before the American Revolution.

"That's when my mother's five times great-grandfather, Joseph Hunt, a young, wannabe Quaker missionary, came out to the wild frontier to convert the heathens," Josie explains as she takes a bottle of juice off a shelf in the pantry, shows Lucas a panel behind it which she depresses, and pulls the entire shelving unit away from the wall.

"Of course, the place was so sparsely populated at the time that he had trouble mustering a congregation," she continues as she takes an electric torch from a shelf and climbs down into a small room beneath the pantry. "The City of Williamsport wouldn't see its first settlers for another generation, but he liked the country and decided to hang around and find something else to occupy his days."

"So, the poor bloke was just ahead of his time," Lucas quips.

"You could say that," Josie agrees with a chuckle as she shines her light on the ladder rungs for him to climb down. "Watch the last step, it's a long one."

Lucas has to stretch to reach the floor from the bottom rung and he can only imagine that Josie, being shorter than him, would have jumped from there.

"Anyway, what he lacked in missionary zeal he more than made up in agricultural ambition," she tells him as she steadies him when he stumbles on the uneven floor of the secret chamber. "His first farmhand was an escaped slave from the Chesapeake Bay Colony in Virginia who worked for room and board until the farm produced enough profit to allow him a wage. This room used to be a root cellar under the original kitchen, and when the slave-catchers came looking for him, he hid here under a pile of potatoes.

"Family lore has it that he was actually very seriously wounded when one of them stabbed his sword into the pile to make sure no one was there, but he managed to keep quiet except for a small squeak. At that precise moment, a rat scurried out from the pile and across the boot of the slave-catcher so he was none the wiser."

"That's quite a story," Lucas says as, together, they help Alexei down the ladder.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't put much stock in it," Josie replies. "For a tale like that to survive so many generations, it must have been embellished. Give me a boost."

Lucas helps her back up onto the ladder, and as she reaches out into the darkness, he follows her hand with the torch. She grabs a lever and pulls it, and he hears the shelving unit above rumble back into place. Another little tug, and he hears the latch click. Standing on the last rung of the ladder, Josie lets her feet slide off, then she lowers herself hand-over-hand down the last three rungs. Her feet dangle only about six inches from the floor, but Lucas puts his hands around her waist and lowers her gently anyway. The floor is uneven cobblestone and he can easily imagine her twisting an ankle.

"Thank you," she says. Shining her light on a square rock a bit above her head, she says, "Push on that."

When Lucas places his palm on the rock and shoves, he hears another click and a soft rumble.

Josie turns and shines her light on a section of the adjoining wall. "Push that in."

Lucas obeys, and a whole section of wall moves back about five inches.

Josie shines her light in the corner and says, "Pull it to the right."

The section of wall is surprisingly easy to move, and Josie leads him into a dark, cool corridor.

"Watch your head," she admonishes him. "There are places along here where I can bump."

When Alexei pulls the wall shut behind them, Lucas feels his breath catch in his chest. _How did you not know until now that you were claustrophobic?_

"Are you all right?"

"Yep," he answers. _Ok, so claustrophobic might be an exaggeration, but this is not comfortable._

"Take my hand," Josie tells him, reaching back, and he does so gladly.

"By the 1750's Joseph could foresee a time when there would be an organized movement to help escaped slaves to freedom," Josie says. "We know it took him and whoever was working with him more than a decade to dig this tunnel because they dated their progress by carving it into the wall every January 1st."

She pauses and shines the light on an engraving that says, "Jos. Hunt. Jan. 1, 1754."

A few yards down the corridor, she shows him another inscription.

"Spartacus Huntsman, Jan. 1, 1755," Lucas reads aloud. "His farmhand?"

"That's what we have always presumed," Josie says. "There is no Spartacus in the family tree. I doubt a slave owner would have called his slave Spartacus, and Huntsman seemingly expresses some affiliation with my ancestor. I like to think that he chose the name for himself."

She leads him a little farther and shines her light off to the right.

"That way brings you out in the packinghouse behind the…what did you call it?"

"The abattoir?" Lucas suggests.

"Yeah. The cornfield is only about three feet out the back door, so if it becomes necessary that's a good way to disappear." She shines her light forward and says, "Ceiling is lower ahead. Be sure to duck."

Josie and Alexei have to duck. Lucas has to walk bent over double.

_Claustrophobia might not have been an exaggeration after all,_ he thinks. _But if it meant freedom, I imagine fleeing slaves would have found a way to cope. I know I'd have managed if it got me out of Russia any sooner._

The tunnel turns and narrows in a couple of places and at one point, Lucas's shoulders brush on both sides. His heart is pounding, but he keeps taking slow, deep breaths and moving forward. Josie wouldn't take him someplace that wasn't safe.

Finally, the space around them opens up and he feels like he can breathe properly. It's as if something had been constricting his chest, crushing it, and he didn't even realize it until after the fact.

Josie shines her light toward the ceiling, and Lucas sees the underside of a wooden floor above them. Rather than planks, though, it is made of heavy beams spaced about a finger's width apart, except for a small area in the corner. A ladder comes down the wall in that spot, and after a moment of looking, Lucas sees a pair of hinges.

"The calf pens used to be just above us," Josie tells him. "The boards are covered with a few inches of concrete. Imagine this room on a steamy August night, stinking of urine and cow manure, the sounds of slave catchers' boots tramping on the floor above you, and then someone says, 'Let's burn 'em out!'"

"I'd rather not," Lucas comments.

"Joseph had one daughter. Her great-grandson, Henry Wayland, spent eighteen years in jail for killing a slave catcher who tried to do just that," Josie tells him as she climbs the ladder and pushes up the trap door with a grunt. "They put the fire out before it did too much damage, but my great-grandfather, George, had to leave school at the age of twelve to help his mother run the farm. The slaves escaped to Canada."

Alexei follows Josie up the ladder, and Lucas brings up the rear.

Blinking in the bright light of an incandescent bulb, he looks around at the whitwashed walls and the clean cement floor and notices the clear outline of the trapdoor in the concrete.

"I must be missing something," he says. "To my eye, that trapdoor is very obvious."

"It is now, but picture this space lit by the flickering light of a lantern." She pulls on a ring in the wall above the hole where they came up and says, "With a nursing mother Holstein tied here bellowing protectively, the place ankle to knee deep in hay or straw, and with a couple of frightened calves huddling with the cow in the corner…"

"It would be hard to find anything on the floor," Lucas realizes, "and you wouldn't want to dawdle for long looking. Ok, I got it."

"Good, now, follow me."

Two of the walls of the calf pen have large panels that can be raised up and held open by means of a rope tied to the handles and looped over a hook in the wall. The panels on the outside wall of the pen let in fresh air and sunshine. Those on the inside wall, Lucas imagines, would let in body heat from the rest of the herd when it came into the milking parlour.

Josie raises one of the panels on the outside wall and slips out into what Lucas imagines would have been the barnyard when the place was a working farm.

"Stay. On. The. Footpath," she says emphatically.

"More poison ivy?" Lucas asks, remembering creeping barefoot up the driveway his first evening here.

"No, secrecy," Josie says. "Turn around and look."

Lucas does.

"I see the barn," he says.

"And?"

"The barnyard, the pasture," he continues.

"And?"

"And everything else is obstructed from my view," Lucas says with a grin, "which means no one can see me from the house, the sheds and outbuildings, the kitchen garden or the fields. And no one would look for escaping slaves up here. They would have to be mad to cross so much open ground with slave catchers searching the property for them."

"Exactly." Josie affirms. "But, stray a foot either way, and you're exposed. Once you get to the top of the footpath, you have to get down and crawl behind the forsythia for a hundred yards or so, but once you hit the woods you're free and clear."

"That can't have been just a happy coincidence," Lucas declares.

"It wasn't," Josie tells him. "In a safety deposit box at my bank, I have the original plans for this property annotated in Joseph Hunt's own hand. It was all very carefully laid out with just this kind of escape in mind. I have always planned to show them to our American History teacher and invite him to bring his classes out for a field trip, but it was just this year that I got the place fully renovated and clean and safe enough for a bunch of rowdy teenagers.

"Now, if anything happens and you guys have to run, you know where to go."

"It's like a magician's sleight of hand on a grand scale," Lucas marvels. "It's bloody brilliant!"

"Thank you," Josie says, her eyes glowing with pride. "He didn't make it into any history books, and he was too busy carving a home out of the wilderness to be as prolific as the great inventors of his era, but I'd bet my combat boots that Joseph Hunt was every bit the genius of men like Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin."

"I don't doubt it," he agrees. Josie is most certainly biased, but it took a clever mind to devise such an enormous illusion.

"Come on," she says, jerking her head in the direction of the woods, "I'll show you where you can hide out and collect supplies if something should happen and you do need to run."

At the top of the footpath through the barnyard, they drop to their knees and creep along behind the forsythia until they are safely in the woods. Without the threat of pursuit, it is actually a little bit of fun and reminds Lucas of the games he and his sister played as children. Once in the woods, they follow a road that was built for farm equipment a few dozen yards to an obscure footpath that looks rather like a narrow game trail. The footpath leads to a wide clearing on the edge of the woods, and despite standing right in front of it and walking all around it, Lucas doesn't spot the shelter until Josie makes him get down on all fours at the entrance. Only when he gets inside by crawling carefully on his belly under a low-growing arch of briars, does he realize that it is an igloo-shaped thatched hut overgrown with wild roses and raspberries.

"Did you build this?" he asks when Josie comes in to join him. Together, they help Alexei into the cramped quarters.

"Yes, and planted the berries and multiple rose around it to camouflage it," she says. "Turned out far better than I expected."

"You know," Lucas tells her, "brilliance _is_ hereditary."

Josie snorts a laugh and says sarcastically, "Well, it skipped _this_ generation."

Lucas frowns. He can't let it go this time. Lunch was one thing, because they all helped to prepare it, but this shelter is really something amazing, and she should be proud of it. Even when they were just flirting at the ballpark, she took every compliment he paid her and turned it around to make a self-deprecating joke on herself, and a couple of times, completely misread one of his idle comments to be a negative judgement of her.

"I think Joseph would have been proud," he says seriously. "And I think he'd be as baffled as I am that you aren't."

"Excuse me?" Josie says in confusion.

"It's just something I don't understand about you," he says. "You come off all cocky and confident, but every time I try to compliment you, you shrug it off or turn it around into an insult. Why do you do that?"

Josie shrugs.

"I don't know," she says. "I'm not even aware I'm doing it."

"Do you think you don't deserve the recognition?" he asks.

Josie gives an annoyed sigh and says, "Didn't I just tell you _I don't know_? Now would you please stop trying to psychoanalyze me?"

"Ok, I'll stop," he says. "But you should give it some thought some day because this is a really clever thing you did, and you deserve to be proud of it."

He isn't surprised when Josie looks uncomfortable and starts studying her cuticles, but at least, this time, he gets a quiet 'Thank you.' He waits until the silence becomes awkward before accepting that she isn't going to say any more.

"Why did you build it?" he finally asks.

Shrugging, she says, "Mostly for the hell of it. It also makes a neat place for my nieces and nephews to play or camp out."

Lucas nods. He can imagine children of a certain age having quite a good time here.

"You mentioned supplies?"

The earthen floor of the shelter is quite soft and loose. Josie kneels at the centre and begins digging. Just a few inches below the surface is a large strongbox. She opens it without lifting it out of the hole and extracts two backpacks.

"Each one has a week's rations, iodine tablets to treat drinking water, standard first aid kit, all the stuff you'd want for roughing it," she says.

"Why is it here?" Lucas asks suspiciously. "What could you have possibly anticipated needing to run away from?"

"Oh, if you had ever met my family, you wouldn't ask that question," she jokes.

He is about to tell her he wants a serious answer when she says, "Truthfully, it started out as a little box of hardtack, dried fruits, beef jerky, and nuts. You know, provisions for escaping slaves when I was just thinking about showing the place off to the history teacher and his classes. Then I switched to little bags of chips…crisps, if you insist, cookies…sorry, biscuits," she teases, "and candy for my nieces and nephews. Then I found out that my brother and a couple of his friends think they're hard core survivalists who will live well and prosper even after the economy collapses, the government is overthrown, and we descend into some kind of Mad Max, post-apocalyptic anarchy.

"They'll go camping for a week at a time, come home looking like they have been beaten with sticks and dragged through a hedgerow backwards, order half a dozen large pizzas and eat until they pass out. I thought it would be fun to plan a little survival adventure for them, let them find out if they really have what it takes to get by in the wild. I just never quite finished the plan. So, my nieces and nephews come out here once in a while to play, they let me know when I need to restock the bags, and I do, so that they can come out and raid them again later.

"If you know what you're doing, they really are good survival packs, though," she continues. "If you can take some fish or game, or at the right time of the year, forage for nuts and berries and wild greens, lay up some stores against the winter, you could conceivably go off the grid indefinitely."

Lucas smirks at the phrase 'off the grid.' He is already well off the Grid as far as Harry is concerned, and despite being stuck on a mission that has stalled, he finds he is quite enjoying himself.

And he doesn't feel the least bit guilty about it, either.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	17. Flight

_**Busman's Holiday**_

_Chapter Sixteen: Flight_

"OH, GOODNESS, LOOK AT THE TIME!" Josie exclaims as they come back into the house. Then she's rattling off instructions a mile a minute.

"There are leftovers in the fridge you can reheat for dinner. My plates are oven safe, so you can just dish up what you want, cover it with foil and heat it for half an hour or so at, maybe, two fifty."

As she talks, she is getting out plates and foil, moving the leftovers to the top shelf of the refrigerator and taking cookie sheets and cake tins out of the oven.

"Of course, if you want, you can just microwave things, but that will make the pork chops tough," she continues. "Or if you don't want leftovers, feel free to fix yourself something else. Just don't use the ground beef, Italian sausage, spaghetti sauce, ricotta or mozzarella. I'm saving them to make lasagne for the teachers' pot luck when school starts. There's beer, wine, soda, juice, I don't know what else to drink. Help yourselves to whatever you like, except for the lasagne fixings. _Mi casa es su casa._"

She's heading into the pantry when Lucas grabs her arm.

"What's the rush?"

"I need to leave in ten minutes," she says. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I didn't realize it was so late."

"Leave?" Lucas scoffs. "Josie, you can't."

"I can't leave?" she repeats incredulously. "You do understand that I was not asking permission, right?"

Lucas takes a deep breath and summons all his patience.

"Look, I want to talk about this without pissing you off, so if I say something that sounds condescending or patronizing, please understand that I don't mean it that way," he says. "Except for my colleagues, I'm just not used to dealing with people who understand my work. I'm also not used to dealing with colleagues who contradict me so often."

"Ok, I'll stop being contrary, for now," Josie agrees. "Why can't I leave?"

"Wha-? Why?" Lucas sputters in shock. "Why can't you leave? Because there are some very bad men out there! You must know the men from Sunday night couldn't have been working alone."

"I never got out of the car. They never saw me. Their cronies can't possibly know what I look like," Josie reasons.

"But they saw your car," Lucas reminds her. "If they got the plate numbers, they can trace it back to you."

"No, they can't," Josie tells him.

"Come again?"

Josie looks at the clock on the kitchen wall and sighs.

"I wish I could explain in more detail, but right now I am running late," she says. "Neither of the cars nor the farm belong to me. They are all registered to a company called Heritage Farms Escapes, which is owned by my great uncle, LaRue, who lives in an assisted living facility about a mile away, but, for reasons surpassing my understanding, or possibly just because he's a crazy old coot, maintains a residential and mailing address in a town about thirty miles east of here. Heritage Farms has a fleet of about twenty cars. I work for him under a private, personal contract, so I don't even appear on the payroll. He is a very suspicious and circumspect man, to the point of paranoia, especially where the government is involved. So he would never give the police any information about any of his employees without a subpoena. Those cars were signed out in his name because he went with me to the fleet garage when we signed them out. He knows I have been driving them for the past couple of years, so if anyone comes asking about them, he'll be calling me wanting to know why, and that will be our warning that they have located us.

"So, you see, Lucas, I _can_ leave."

"You still shouldn't," he insists, though he has to admit, it's much less dangerous than he thought. "It's good practice to keep a low profile when you're just waiting for a mission to continue."

"I realize that," Josie replies. "But ever since the first of my brothers left home, the whole family has gathered at my parents' house for potluck every Tuesday night. When I moved home, it was expected of me, too."

"So, just call and tell them you don't feel well and can't make it tonight," Lucas says.

"You don't come from a big family, do you?" Josie asks.

"Just my sister and me, why?"

"What about aunts and uncles?"

"My mum was an only child, my dad's brother and his family emigrated to Australia when I was an infant," he tells her.

"Come here," she crooks a finger at him and leads him to the living room window. "See the fat guy grilling by the pool? That's my Uncle Rodney."

A woman comes out with a bowl and places it on the picnic table.

"That's my Aunt Dana. Two doors down is their eldest son, Laurence, and his wife and four kids. On the lot behind Laurence, is his sister, Erin, and her family. His younger brother, Rick, lives just out of sight around the bend in the road with a wife and two kids."

She points in the other direction.

"Those bed sheets flapping in the breeze belong to my Aunt Martha and Uncle George. Their son, Rory, and his family live down there by the stop sign in the house with the white birch tree in the yard."

She points through the wall, somewhere in the direction of the kitchen window, and says, "My mom's cousin, Sally, and her husband live about half a mile, as the crow flies, in that direction. My mom and dad and three of my four brothers live within six miles of this place, and my fourth brother lives about fifteen miles away, in Trout Run, in a cabin on the edge of the State Game Lands.

"We all manage to live each other's hip pockets because we are very respectful of one another's privacy and personal boundaries and very conscientious about calling ahead before dropping in for a visit," Josie explains. "However, if I were to call my mother and tell her I didn't feel well enough to show up for potluck Tuesday, at least two of the relatives who live on this road would be dropping by to check on me before dark.

"If good practice is keeping a low profile in this situation, then telling my mom I'm too sick to come to dinner is just plain stupid."

"Then just tell her you don't have time," Lucas says.

Josie rolls her eyes.

"That would rouse even more curiosity," she says. "Missing the family dinner just isn't done. You might show up late or have to leave early, but everyone always checks in. If you have plans with friends that will delay you or take you away early, you're expected to bring them by for everyone to have a look at them. The last time someone missed was two years ago when my great-nephew, Danny, was born, and even then, my brother Marcus, the grandpa-to-be, called from the hospital.

"Saying I'm too busy is the same as telling my mother I have better things to do than see her and the rest of the family. That would make her jealous of whoever or whatever is taking up so much of my time. She would be out here herself bright and early tomorrow morning to see what I was up to and to ask if she could help."

"All right," Lucas sighs. "Go. I won't argue. But could you come back sooner rather than later?"

"Of course," Josie says. "But it's my turn to bring dessert, so I will have to stay until dinner is over."

WHILE JOSIE IS GONE, Lucas takes the opportunity to learn all he can about Heritage Farms Escapes. The first thing he does is send an e-mail to Harry asking him to have the team look into it. He doesn't tell them why, but assumes they will guess it has something to do with Josie. He knows how clever they are and how good they are at ferreting out information not available to the general public, so he's certain, if there is anything on record linking her with the company, they will find it.

Then he browses the company's website. It is an interesting vision, and he hopes it works out well for Josie and her uncle. The basic business model takes a failing family farm and turns it into a sort of rural luxury resort. The business of farming becomes a participation activity and those who are interested can try everything from milking cows and churning butter to ploughing fields and baling hay, depending on the time of year. For those who are seeking more leisurely pursuits, each Farm has all the amenities of a luxury hotel including a spa, a salon, and a pool. For the athletically inclined, they might offer any combination of tennis, basketball, volleyball, a lap pool, a gym, horseback riding on groomed trails, dirt bike and four-wheeler trails, and depending on the individual Farm's geography, overnight camping, cross-country or downhill skiing, trap shooting, fishing, and small-game, big-game, and waterfowl hunting.

The working Farm provides most of the supplies for the kitchen, so guests can be sure of getting fresh, free-range meats and organically grown produce in their meals. The hunters and fishermen can even have what they kill or catch butchered and prepared to order. For those who want a trophy to take home, each farm consults with a local taxidermist who will skin the animal and prepare the hide for transport to the guest's home or mount it and ship it when the project is finished.

The whole concept is rather like a sleep-away camp for the whole family, but even with activities for children, Heritage Farms seems to recognize that they need something more to sustain interest. To that end, they also offer day trips and package tours to local points of interest that can be booked in advance or when a guest arrives. The Flagship Farm, Apple Blossom Hill, which as far as Lucas can tell is the only one fully up and running at the moment, offers a ten-day package that includes day trips to New York City; Washington, D.C.; Baltimore Inner Harbour; Corning, New York with its glassworks and museum; the baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York; and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Nowhere on the website does he find any references to Josie. He studies every smiling face in every photograph of relaxed and happy guests and courteous and professional staff, and doesn't find her anywhere. He examines every building pictured on the site, sometimes even printing off an image and going outside to compare it to Josie's outbuildings, until he is convinced that nothing on the web can lead anyone to them.

Finally, he gets an e-mail back from Beth telling him that, after an exhaustive search of the company's records, some forwarded by their American contacts and others hacked by Ruth, Harry would like to know, please, if he had a moment to explain what it has to do with his current mission and why they are spending their time on it.

Lucas can't help smirking. He'd bet his eight years back wages that Harry's request wasn't nearly as polite as Beth made it sound. Possibly because Josie is a bad influence on him, he keeps his reply deliberately vague and cryptic.

_It's probably nothing. Just a background check. Perhaps you should dig a little deeper. Shake the tree and see what falls out. Thank you._

His ears ring just imagining Harry's response to his request. It would likely be regarded as unprofessional to use the team's resources without giving them any idea what direction to take, and until he had a chance to explain none of them would see the point. If he hadn't witnessed Josie antagonizing Harry, he probably never would have thought to do it, but by giving the team general instructions to research Heritage Farms Escapes, he can find out just how likely one is to stumble upon a connection to Josie. Knowing how hard it might be to locate her through her uncle's business will give him some idea of their relative security. It only makes sense to stay here if they really are safe, and moving if there is no need would be foolhardy.

And honestly, it amuses him to imagine Harry having fits wondering what he is up to.

He's finished with his research and is helping Alexei with the dishes when Josie bursts in.

"I'LL FINISH THAT,"she tells him urgently, stepping up to the sink and hip-checking him out of the way. "You and Alexei need to get into the woods, now. Don't forget the clothes I put in your rooms and any gear you have lying around the house. There should be a backpack for Alexei's things in the upstairs hall closet."

"What's happening?" Lucas asks after he translates for Alexei.

"The FBI is canvassing the neighbourhood asking about the wreck," Josie says. "There can only be two reasons the Feds would be interested in a car accident way out here in the boonies. Either the victims were already persons of interest to them…"

"Or the mole is our FBI contact," Lucas concludes as he is packing the laptop, identities, weapons, and other things into his backpack. "Shit!"

"Yep," Josie agrees, rapidly towel-drying the dishes and putting them in the cupboard. First Lucas wants to ask why she's bothering, but then he realizes, if they make their way into the kitchen and see dishes from a meal for two in the sink, a trained observer will become suspicious. "And given my background, as soon as they find out about my military career…"

"They will suspect that you were a pre-arranged secondary contact and put you under surveillance…"

"Until they can get a subpoena to search the place," Josie says, as she follows Lucas up the stairs. "Now, my relatives down the road know enough not to discuss my business with strangers, but they're proud of my military service, so there's a very good chance that we have only about five to ten minutes before somebody blabs. Best case scenario, we have a couple of days until they find the car and connect it with me, but I don't want to risk waiting that long."

"Nor do I," Lucas says, as Josie tosses him the clothes from the cupboard and he stuffs them in the backpack. She goes into the lavatory and gets his toiletries, which he hadn't even considered might give them away, and while he's packing them up, she puts the book he was reading back on the shelf and straightens the bed. She has even taken his towel and tossed it into the hamper in her bedroom as they go into Alexei's room.

While Lucas helps the Russian pack, Josie clears out his loo and does a final sweep of the place looking for anything that might have been forgotten. They hurry down the stairs, and just as Lucas releases the catch on the pantry shelves, there is a loud banging on the door.

"Just a moment," Josie calls melodically.

Turning to Lucas, she whispers urgenty, "Remember to keep your head down in the tunnel, stay on the footpath behind the barn, and _crawl _behind the forsythia. I'll stall them as long as I can."

"Right," Lucas agrees. "We'll wait for you in the shelter."

"Twenty-four hours, no longer," she tells him.

Then she gives him a passionate kiss.

"Take care, and keep your head down."

There is another thump at the door.

"Coming!" Josie calls, and she swings the pantry door shut behind them.

AS SOON AS THEY REACH THE SHELTER, Lucas digs out the survival packs.

"_I'd rather have to rebury them if we don't need to run than need to run and waste time digging them up,_" he explains when Alexei asks if they should wait for Josie.

Satisfied with his answer, Alexei helps him with the digging. Once the packs are out of the ground, Lucas takes a moment to better organize the contents of his own backpack.

He checks that the 9mm is loaded, and holsters it at the small of his back. The .22 goes in his ankle holster, and the switchblade back in his jeans pocket. The garrotte is still in his wallet, which he slips into his hip pocket. Alexei helps him fold the clothes, stuffing socks into the spare shoes Josie has supplied them, and when it is repacked, the bag is considerably less bulky.

Finally, they have nothing left to do but wait.

"_She is in love with you,_" Alexei says after a long silence.

"_You think so?_" Lucas asks.

"_I am certain of it,_" Alexei says. "_She and I, we talked in the morning before you woke, yesterday and today._"

"_Oh?_" Lucas tries to sound indifferent. "_About what?_"

"_Not you,_" Alexei says.

"_Then what makes you think she is in love with me?_"

"_We get along well, have fun talking, enjoy each other's company,_" Alexei says. "_With the language, it is difficult to be certain, but I think…we are friends._"

"_And again I ask, how does that indicate that she is in love with me?_"

"_The moment you walk into the room, I no longer exist,_" Alexei says.

Lucas laughs quietly. He has noticed that himself, but Alexei has had the phone to translate, so unless he asks, Lucas hasn't worried about it much.

"_It could be just the language barrier,_" Lucas says. "_Since I can understand her easily, the natural inclination would be to speak to me rather than you._"

"_Except that she doesn't even look at me when you are around,"_ Alexei says. "_It is very rude behaviour, and she is not a rude person. You are the only thing she sees._"

"_She includes you in the conversation at meals,_" Lucas says, "_and earlier today, when she showed us the pictures of those boys in Somalia._"

"_Mealtimes do not count,_" Alexei says. "_It is impossible to ignore someone when you need them to pass you the potatoes. And the pictures of the boys do not count either. That was a private, personal experience your boss exposed to both of us. She could hardly explain it to one of us and not the other. The rest of the time, I am invisible. I do not mind. I think it is…cute._"

"_Yeah, well, she knows it isn't going to last,_" Lucas says, surprised how bitter he feels. "_It just isn't possible._"

"_Ahh, but you can't tell the heart not to love, my friend,_" Alexei warns him. "_She has fallen in love with you and will love you forever, whether you see her again or not. Even if she finds someone else, she will always love you…and you, I think, will always love her, too._"

"_We should be quiet,_" Lucas says. "_This is an outstanding hiding place. It would be stupid to expose ourselves with idle conversation._"

"_Expose ourselves?_" Alexei scoffs. "_To whom?_"

"_Doesn't matter. It's good operational procedure,_" Lucas tells him. "_So shut up._"

It's the coward's way out, Lucas knows, but he really doesn't want to discuss his feelings for Josie with her facing God knows what kind of threat while he is safely ensconced in her secret hide-out.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	18. Under Cover of Darkness

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter 17: Under Cover of Darkness_

LUCAS AND ALEXEI WAIT IN SILENCE FOR HOURS. The amber light that filters into the shelter through the thatched roof and the overgrown brush fades to black. Lucas's back and bum start to ache from sitting hunched over in the shelter. His head throbs with the tension of not knowing what is going on down at the house.

The shelter, which was pleasantly cool in the heat of the day, is now chilly and damp as the dew gathers outside. Mosquitoes start to whine, and Alexei curses quietly and slaps at them. Lucas hushes him, and then silently unzips his survival pack. It's a fairly standard set-up, and after a few moments of groping, he is able to find a penlight which he then uses to locate insect repellent and itch relieving cream in the first aid kit.

Once they have both done what they can to deal with the bugs, Lucas gets a flannel shirt out of his backpack and slips it on to protect against the chill in the air. Advising Alexei to do the same, he again wonders how Josie came to have clothes in both their sizes, and decides it will be the first thing he asks if he ever gets the chance to speak to her again. Lucas pockets the penlight, repacks the bags, and using his own backpack as a pillow, he stretches out across the floor of the shelter.

"_You can't seriously be going to sleep_," Alexei whispers harshly.

"_Probably not_," Lucas tells him, "_but I can still rest my body. You should try to do the same. No telling what might happen next. We may need to move out quickly._"

Alexei fidgets and fusses for a bit, settles with a sigh, and asks, "_What do you think is taking her so long?_"

"_I don't know,_" Lucas replies, "_and it does no good to speculate._"

"_Are you not worried for her?_" Alexei asks.

Lucas barely manages to suppress a groan.

"_I am,_" he says, "_but my intervention can only bring her more trouble. Right now, the best anyone might be able to prove is that she broke some traffic regulations, failed to report an attempted shooting, left the scene of an accident, and abandoned her vehicle. The moment I show up, it becomes espionage._"

"_Unless the people searching her neighbourhood are not really police,_" Alexei points out. "_In that case they are not interested in charging her with crimes._"

If it were not dark, Lucas would be glaring at him now.

"_Regardless of who they are, our presence would only put her in greater danger,_" Lucas insists. "_We stay here for twenty-four hours or until she comes for us, whichever comes first._"

Alexei says nothing more. Lucas hears him fidgeting again, and then he hears a deep sigh when the Russian settles. Lying on his back and staring into the darkness, Lucas tries to blank his mind. Even if he can't sleep, resting his body and clearing his head for a few minutes will be refreshing. Unfortunately, all his thoughts keep drifting back to Josie, and his worry for her makes him tense and anxious.

Eventually, he must manage to quiet his thoughts, though, because, while he is sure that he hasn't been sleeping, he suddenly becomes aware when a moment ago he was not. He hears shuffling and rustling, thumping on the ground, animals biting off grass and chewing it.

_Deer?_

He hears a snort and a grunt. A hoof paws at the ground. Then the whole herd thunders away.

_Now, what scared them off? _he wonders. _Was it the scent of Alexei and me, or something else?_

He doesn't have long to wonder. Within a minute or so, he hears footsteps outside the shelter, and judging from the sound of them, they are human.

He wants to call out, but if it's not Josie he can't risk giving away their location. For all he knows, it could be a poacher out hunting deer illegally, or just some hiker out in the woods on a nice evening, or one of the people who are hunting for Alexei. He offers a brief, silent prayer that Alexei won't start snoring or talking in his sleep.

Whoever it is stops moving, but when Josie doesn't call out, Lucas gets a bad feeling. Moving slowly, he silently draws his 9mm from the holster at his back. He doesn't risk removing the safety or cocking it just yet because he doesn't want the sound to give him away, but he keeps it pointed toward where he last heard the footsteps.

It seems like forever since their visitor stopped tramping about. Lucas begins to wonder if he was imagining things or if the person managed to steal away without him hearing. He holds his breath trying to listen, but all he can hear are the crickets and mosquitoes, and somewhere, far away, a bullfrog croaking.

"Lucas!" a harsh whisper from outside gives him a start. "They're gone. Come on out and bring the emergency packs."

He can breathe again.

He holsters his gun, gives Alexei a shake, and tells him it's time to leave.

_"What time it is?" _the Russian asks.

_"Late,"_ Lucas replies. Pressing the button to illuminate his watch, he specifies, "_Eleven fifteen_."

_"So we've been out here nearly five hours,"_ Alexei complains. _"What took so long?"_

_"I don't know, but I intend to find out," _Lucas promises.

But he hasn't forgotten his first question for Josie.

"How is it you come to have men's clothing in Alexei's size and mine?" he whispers before he is even on his feet after crawling out of the shelter.

"Why do you ask?" Josie counters, amusement in her voice. "Jealous?"

"I might be," Lucas teases back softly.

"Then maybe I shouldn't answer," Josie responds. "Leave you wondering, keep you insecure and compliant not knowing how easy it might be to replace you."

"That might work, if I was going to be sticking around," he says, "but seriously, I am curious."

"Six generations of my family have grown up in my house," Josie tells him. "Things get put up in the attic and forgot. I was planning to clean it out for my church's fall rummage sale, but here I am running off with a handsome spy instead."

Lucas is glad for the darkness that covers his blush. It's simple flattery, but somehow everything she says seems to mean more. _Maybe because I know when I leave I will never see her again._

"Why did you stand outside so long without moving?" he asks next. It had seemed like forever that he was holding his breath.

"I saw headlights coming around the bend at the end of the driveway," Josie says. "I wanted to make sure they kept on going."

He turns and offers Alexei a hand to help him to his feet when he emerges from the shelter. Then he asks Alexei's question.

"What took so long?"

"They asked if they could look around the outbuildings," Josie says, as she starts leading the way out of the meadow, taking a different path to the one Lucas and Alexei had taken to get there.

"I said no, not without a warrant," she continues. "Of course they tried to frighten me with the idea of a fugitive hiding on my property, and when that didn't work, they tried to intimidate me by implying that I was guilty of something and they would find evidence. I reminded them that if they had probable cause, they would have come with a warrant in hand rather than forewarning me with a useless request first and asked them to get off my property. They parked at the end of the driveway and one of them sat there while the other walked on down the road questioning the neighbours.

"When the second guy came back and got in the car, they didn't leave. I gave them another twenty minutes and then called one of my friends at the sheriff's office. A car came out, and as I watched from the upstairs window, the officer questioned them. I saw them hand over some ID, but when he went back to his car to call it in, they took off."

"Shit!" Lucas cursed.

"Yeah," Josie agrees. "I don't know who they were, but if they are FBI, they've gone rogue, and if they aren't…"

"They're even more trouble," Lucas concludes.

"Right. Of course, the officer wanted to question me. I said I didn't know who they were or what they wanted, which, strictly speaking, is true, and no one can prove otherwise, told him what I could without giving anything away, and when he offered me protection, I declined it. He tried to convince me, failed, and left.

"I have three ATVs, Lucas, four-wheelers that we can use to get away from here without taking to the roads," Josie tells him. "Once the policeman left, I loaded them up with food, clothes, bedrolls, extra gas, everything we'll need for a few days' roughing it, and pushed them one at a time, down into another pasture because I didn't want to risk taking the two of you back to the house. Please, _please_ tell me you and Alexei know how to ride them."

Lucas translates her whole story, and when Alexei affirms at the end that he can ride a four-wheeler, both Lucas and Josie breathe a sigh of relief.

WHEN THEY ARRIVE AT THE ATVS, Lucas gets a most unexpected surprise. With a loud meow, Boo leaps from one of the vehicles to rub around his ankles.

"We're taking the cat?" he asks, deliberately keeping his tone even so that he doesn't offend or embarrass Josie. He could be angry or amused or imply that she's gone mad, but he doesn't know what to think, so he just waits to hear what she has to say.

"Well, that wasn't the plan, but yes, it seems we'll have to," she tells him, taking one of the survival packs and strapping it onto one of the vehicles. "I couldn't shut him up in the house, because I would have to leave extra food out for him. If anyone with half a brain breaks in to search the place, it will give away what is supposed to be a clandestine flight under cover of darkness."

"So, let him loose outside," Lucas says, fastening the other pack down in the same way that she did with the first. "You say he's a brilliant hunter. Let him catch his dinner."

"That _was_ the plan!" Josie hisses in frustration as she takes his and Alexei's backpacks and fastens them to the third ATV. "He won't be left behind, and I am _not_ going to be mean to him just to chase him off."

"Oh, bloody…!" Lucas sighs. This is not worth getting upset. "Let's just get going. I am sure the noise of the engines will be enough to send him running home."

"When is the last time you had a pet cat?" she asks him.

"Never."

"I thought as much."

Josie takes a moment to show Lucas and Alexei the controls for their vehicles and gives them each a pair of gloves, safety goggles, and a helmet which she insists on adjusting to be sure they won't slip. The she puts her own gear on and Lucas can't help but laugh. Her canary yellow helmet is decorated with a spiky ridge of silicone rubber running the centre from her brow, over her head, and halfway down her back. The crest is the same shade of yellow as the helmet where it's attached, but then it's shaded through the spectrum of yellows, oranges, and reds, until it's so dark at each tip that it ends in a black point.

"Something wrong?" she asks, turning to Lucas with a grin.

He shakes his head.

"No, not at all."

"I am vain," she explains. "I think I look ridiculous in a helmet."

"And that's an improvement?" Lucas asks incredulously.

"Well, it takes something unflattering and utilitarian and turns in into a customized piece of wearable statement art," she says. "A friend made it to my specifications. I like it, and my little nephews think it's awesome. They call me Auntie Zilla."

"As in…"

"Godzilla, yes," Josie says.

Then she reaches up and depresses the first of the spikes, and the whole bloody thing begins to glow.

"Unbelievable," Lucas mutters.

It is nearly midnight when they each climb on an AVT and start the engines. Josie pulls out first, and Lucas gestures for Alexei to follow her. He wants to keep Alexei between them in case there is any trouble, and he wants to bring up the rear, because he expects trouble to come from that direction. Boo sits and watches as Josie and Alexei pull away.

When Alexei is a few yards ahead of him, Lucas puts his vehicle in gear and rolls off. He's just moving it into second and about to call an 'I told you so' to Josie when something hits his lower back with a solid thump. He turns to look, and there is Boo, one paw hooked under the strap holding a pack onto the ATV, licking the other paw, and washing his face.

Lucas doesn't know whether to laugh or curse.

THEIR 'CLANDESTINE FLIGHT UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS' turns out to be more of a slow slog over rough terrain through muddy woods. There are times when Lucas is dead certain he could walk, never mind jog, faster, admittedly not with the emergency packs and additional supplies Josie has piled on the ATVs, but if putting distance between them and the people hunting for Alexei is a priority, he isn't sure he wouldn't rather be on foot and unprovisioned. The problem is, he isn't familiar enough with the local geography to know where they're heading or what he should expect when they get there. In fact, with the trees obscuring his view of the sky, he only knows they're travelling generally northwest by the digital compass mounted between the handle bars of his ride. They have just forded what is perhaps their twentieth small stream, and Lucas is startled and infinitely grateful for the goggles Josie forced him to wear when Alexei's rear tyre spins and throws a clot of mud and pebbles the size of a man's fist into his eyes.

"Hold up!" he calls, coming to a stop. "Can't see!"

He hears the other two vehicles stop not far away followed by feet tramping toward him. Being blinded has left him a bit disorientated, and not being familiar with the vehicle, it takes him a moment to work out how to put it into park so that he can get his goggles off. By then, his companions are quite close.

"Hold still," Josie says, and as he reaches up to try to remove the goggles, she takes his wrists and says, "Let me."

Lucas puts his hands down to his sides and tries to relax. It's bad enough to be travelling cross country in the dark, but then to be suddenly blinded is a little unnerving.

"Lean forward," she commands gently as she puts a hand to the back of his neck, "so the mud falls away instead of down over your face."

He obeys and she promptly removes the goggles for him.

"Well, this is as good a place as any for a pit stop," she says.

"Pit stop?" Lucas asks.

"Yeah, to rinse your goggles and your face, stretch our legs, and, er, other things," she says, sounding a bit awkward.

"Other things?" Lucas echoes, feeling a bit dim.

Josie sighs.

"Ok, look, growing up with brothers, I know that to a man, the world is your toilet," she says. "Any convenient tyre or bush, or even a corner where you can turn your back to your audience will do, but it's not so easy for a woman."

Now he notices she is fidgeting from one foot to the other as she speaks, and he has to smirk.

"Oh, sorry, yes, go," he says.

She pulls something out of one of the packs on his bike and says, "In case either of you need to do what the bears do."

As the glowing yellow coxcomb bounces away into the dark, he picks up the object and examines it in his headlights.

"Camouflage loo roll?" he calls out with a chuckle.

"Not my idea!" comes the reply from a softly glowing spot on the other side of a large tree a few yards away. "It was part of a kit."

Lucas has a word with Alexei, who has a laugh at Josie's expense, and then they both do as she suggested and make use of the nearby bushes. Even Boo takes the opportunity to climb down from the ATV, stretch, scratch, paw through the leaf litter on the forest floor and then squat with an air of intense concentration before sniffing at the base of a tree and sharpening his claws on it.

When Josie returns, her helmet provides enough light for Lucas to rinse the mud off his goggles in the stream they just crossed. While he is working, he asks her about their destination and whether they wouldn't have been better off to go on foot or to use public roads.

"The ATVs aren't road legal in the State of Pennsylvania," she tells him, "and there are no public roads to the place we're going anyway. We probably have more supplies than we need, but the excess isn't really holding us back. There's no way we would be able to carry everything we'll need on our backs through the woods, so the ATVs seemed the best option."

"And just where are we going?" Lucas asks.

"Another of my Uncle LaRue's farms," she says, "or rather, a cabin in the woods on the property. The place is a work in progress, with an emphasis on the 'in progress' part," she says. "It doesn't have an indoor toilet, but there's a hot tub. A hand pump provides water for the kitchen sink, and its heated with a wood burning cook-stove in the winter, but electricity for the lights, and appliances comes from solar panels on the roof. We'll to do our cooking on a camp stove so as not to make the place too warm, but we'll have satellite TV and internet for our entertainment. It is the weirdest mix of rustic and modern you will ever see, and it has the advantage of being undocumented. It's not on any maps of the property because it's not what the township would call a permanent structure. The whole cabin is built on skids and can be towed by a farm tractor. You just crawl underneath with a pipe wrench, disconnect the pump and the drain for the sink, and away you go."

"You realize that sounds perfectly mad, don't you?" Lucas asks, just to be sure.

Josie nods.

"It was one of my Uncle LaRue's schemes," she says. "Old age is not the only reason he's in assisted living. He knows he's not always entirely there and probably hasn't been since he was in his teens. He doesn't want the family to have the burden of watching him round the clock, so in one of his lucid spells, he set up a trust to pay for his care and gave me power of attorney to make business and medical decisions for him when he isn't competent.

"He thought he could build a fleet of these cabins and designate them as mobile homes to avoid the increased property taxes on the additional structures. Problem is, he couldn't get anyone to insure them, and without insurance, he can't use them for Heritage Farms. So, every couple of months, I bring him out to putter around the prototype and he's happy with that. Last time we were out here, we got rid of the old big-screen TV and installed a flat screen with a full home entertainment system and surround sound, but you still have to boil the water before you drink it."

Lucas gets the feeling that Josie spends more time caring for her uncle than any of her relatives, but they really need to keep moving and it's none of his business anyway, so he doesn't ask. He is content knowing that the place is secluded. Finding out that they won't be sleeping in the open is more than he expected.

"How much further?" he asks as he puts his helmet and goggles on again.

"We're more than halfway," Josie tells him. "How long it might take to get there depends on conditions up ahead."

"Best get moving then," Lucas suggests. "I'd like to get under cover before daylight."

This time, he scoops up the cat and settles him on top of his pile of cargo without a second thought.

AFTER ABOUT AN HOUR, Josie stops them again. Lucas and Alexei wait with their engines running as she gets off her ATV and hunts through one of her packs. Eventually, she pulls out a large, powerful electric torch and walks ahead a bit. When she turns to look back at them, she waves a hand across her neck in a cutting motion to signal they should turn their engines off.

Lucas gets off his vehicle and comes forward.

"What's up?" he asks.

"The cabin's about a hundred yards ahead," Josie tells him.

"Well then, why are we stopping here?"

Confused, he starts striding forward, but Josie grabs him by the waistband of his jeans and yanks him backward hard enough that he stumbles.

"Because our bridge is down there," she tells him, steadying him with one hand and shining her light on a pile of splintered wood shattered under a downed tree some forty feet below with the other.

"Shit!" Lucas gasps, his heart suddenly racing with the thought that he nearly went over.

"Yep," she agrees. "The next nearest crossing is smack in the middle of a trailer park, and the one after that is miles upstream."

"So, what's the plan?" Lucas asks.

"Ask me again in five minutes," Josie tells him. "The edge is soft, and if it gives way, you probably won't stop falling until you hit bottom, so stay back."

Lucas walks back to Alexei, and explains what is going on, then the two of them slouch against his ride and wait for Josie to figure something out. They watch curiously as she takes off her helmet, kicks the leaf litter away from the front of her vehicle, and lies down on the muddy forest floor under the front end of it. Then she gets up and repeats the process with Alexei's ATV. Lucas happens to have parked with a large root underneath the front end of his ride, so she has to start it up and move it before she can have a look. When she gets off, so does Boo, and when she lies down, he does, too, right on top of her stomach.

She stays there a minute, stroking the cat and scratching behind his ears, before she gets up and comes forward again. She hands Boo over to Lucas, saying, "Keep him out of the way, please," and moves ahead to her vehicle where she takes a coil of rope out of her pack, loops it around herself, and attaches the other end to the front of her ATV.

Then she walks gingerly to the very edge of the ravine and shines her light down. Giving herself some slack, she walks a few yards along the ravine up- and downstream of their intended crossing. At one point, the edge starts to give way under her, but before Lucas can do more than step away from the ATV, she is on all fours and crawling her way to safer ground. She resumes her inspection of the ravine until she finds a likely spot for whatever she intends to do. Then she picks up a rock about the size of her fist and tosses it down, apparently watching and listening to its fall. Seemingly satisfied, she puts the flashlight down and returns to her ATV, gathering up the rope as she goes and slinging it over her shoulder. Finally, she joins Lucas and Alexei again.

"Ok, here's the plan," she says. "Each of these things has a winch on the front end, but Lucas, yours is the heaviest. We're going to park your ride about ten feet back from the edge of the ravine and lower the other two down. The cable should be long enough to reach bottom, but if it's not, we can stack boards from the remains of the bridge into a docking platform and then roll them down from there."

"Then how do we get my ATV down?" he asks knowing she would never just leave it out in the woods.

She takes the rope off her shoulder and tosses it in the general direction of the spot where she plans for them to go over into the ravine.

"I'm going tie that off, turn your ATV around, hook it fast to something, and rappel down as I lower the ATV," she says.

"Sounds bloody dangerous," Lucas interrupts. "If the cable breaks under tension, it could tear you apart on the recoil."

"Short term, yeah, it's a slightly bigger risk than our other options," Josie agrees, "but long term, it's the better choice. It gets us under cover before daylight, and we don't risk being spotted in the trailer park."

"Agreed," Lucas tells her, "but I will take the last ATV down the cliff face."

"No, you won't, for at least three excellent reasons," Josie tells him. "Firstly, Alexei is your main priority. Something happens to you, you can't protect him, and that is your primary mission. Secondly, this is all my equipment. I know better than you how it works, so there's less risk of operator error if I do it."

"It's a winch," Lucas grumbles. "Reel in the cable, pay out the cable, and stop. There's not that many buttons to get confused."

"Nevertheless, it's mine," Josie says, "and I am more familiar with it. Thirdly, I am the lightest of the three of us, so there's less chance of the rope breaking."

"That's still not a risk I want you tak…"

"I'm not giving you a choice, Lucas," she tells him. "We do this my way, or we spend the rest of the night riding up stream to the next crossing, which could also be washed out, and then backtracking, unless you think you know the area well enough to go it on your own from here."

_I could probably subdue her and tie her up with that rope, but is it worth the conflict?_

"You're bloody impossible, you know that?" he says.

_You wouldn't dare try it with Ros or Beth or Ruth. Wouldn't even think it, but…_

"Oh, Christ!" he mutters when he suddenly realizes that his affection for Josie is making him irrational and over protective. "All right, we do it your way, just please, be careful."

"I'm always careful," she tells him. "Then I'll climb back up the rope, unhook the end of the cable so you can reel it in, and while the two of you are moving everything across the bottom of the ravine and building another docking platform if we need it, I will go down to the trailer court on foot, cross the bridge, and come back up the other side, where we will repeat the whole process in reverse."

Lucas can't deny that it's a reasonable plan anymore than he can stop his guts from tying themselves in knots over the unlikely possibility that the cable will break as Josie is abseiling down the cliff face alongside the last ATV.

"Right then," he agrees. "Let's get to work."

DESPITE LUCAS'S IRRATIONAL FEARS, the biggest risk in moving the ATVs turns out to be Boo. In his persistent demand for affection, he manages to scratch Josie, get stepped on by Alexei, and trip Lucas twice as they are moving the vehicles into position to be winched to the bottom of the ravine.

"Ok, that's it!" Josie declares scooping the cat into her arms as Lucas picks himself up from the forest floor for the second time. Lucas is about to ask her why she would reward the little beast with affection for causing so much trouble when she says, "Empty out one of the smaller backpacks, please. He isn't going to like this, but it will keep him out of the way and safe until we get to the cabin."

It takes just a couple of minutes for Lucas to transfer his things out of the backpack he brought from home, but he is certain that is long enough for Boo to work out their intent. How one ten-pound cat can be almost a match for three grown humans is beyond him, but by the time Boo is safely zipped up inside and the pack is securely strapped to his ATV, they are all sweating, cursing, and bleeding from a collection of scratches and bites that make it look like they were set upon by a small colony of rabid feral cats.

He is just wondering how to ask without offending Josie if Boo is up-to-date on his rabies inoculation when she says, "Don't worry. His shots are current. I'll even fax you the records if you like. I just hope you've had yours."

Under other circumstances, Lucas might be amused by her quip, but on the run, in the woods, after dark, with his thumb throbbing from four sets of perfectly spaced fang punctures running the length of the digit and a still-bleeding scratch going from his elbow to his wrist, his sense of humour has deserted him.

"Shut up!" he growls. "It's not fucking funny."

"What?" Josie sounds surprised. "Oh, no, I wasn't joking that you might give the cat something. I just mean that you should be wary of tetanus and other bacterial infections."

"Hmm," Lucas grunts. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," she says kindly. "I think we're all at wit's end."

Her compassionate response makes Lucas feel even more like an ass, and that makes him angrier than he was just a moment ago.

"Oh, for God's sake, woman! Would you at least yell at me?"

"What for?" Josie asks.

"So I can yell back and relieve some tension!" Lucas shouts.

"Well, all right then!" Josie shouts. "Now you've done it! Feel better?"

"Yes!" Lucas snaps.

"Good!" Josie barks back.

They glare at each other for a moment, and then the corners of her mouth start to twitch. Lucas smirks back, and suddenly they are both laughing, longer, louder, and more sincerely than they were shouting.

_"The two of you have fallen out of your trees," _Alexei grumbles with a shake of his head, and he walks off a few yards into the woods.

"Look, I'm through the looking glass here," Lucas finally admits as he leans against the nearest ATV. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, and I didn't mean anything by it. It's never good when a mission goes wrong, but it seems like every time I turn around something unexpected or…utterly bizarre happens. Usually, when a member of the public gets sucked into my work the way you did, they just sort of quietly panic and then do what they're told, so I'm not used to having someone stand up to me the way you do, either. Then, to bring the cat along…I'm not criticizing, and I totally understand the reasoning, but it's just bloody weird."

"Are you trying to say you're having trouble coping with me?" Josie asks, all empathy and concern as she approaches him.

"Actually, I think I'm coping rather well," he tells her as he rubs his hand over his throbbing, chewed up thumb. "My patience is just a bit thin at the moment."

She takes his hand and inspects the injury.

"Wow, he really did get you, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Lucas pouts, "and that's not the worst of it."

He shows her his arm, and she gasps.

"Poor baby," she says sweetly, and kisses his thumb. "Let's take care of that before we go any further."

"No, I think it will be all right until we get to the cabin," he says.

"Are you sure?" she asks, looking up at him compassionately. "It won't take a minute to wrap it."

"It's mostly stopped bleeding," he mutters, feeling less and less pain by the second.

"Well, that's good, then," she whispers.

When she smiles up at him, his only answer is to steal a kiss.

Then the bag on top of his ATV shifts and emits a quizzical, "Meow?"

Lucas elbows it lightly and grunts softy, "Quiet, mate, or you'll be the last thing we unpack."

To his astonishment, the threat works.

"DO YOU SMELL THAT?" Josie asks when they reach the bottom of the ravine.

Lucas takes a deep breath. It's something fragrant, fresh, but not floral.

"Cucumbers?" he asks, thinking there must be some sort of wild produce growing out here.

"Copperheads," Josie replied darkly.

"Excuse me?" Lucas says, not sure what she means.

"Venomous snakes," she tells him. "They like rocky terrain and leaf litter, this place is perfect for them."

"Great. So what do we do?"

"They're non-aggressive," she tells him. "They'd sooner get away than attack you. We move slowly and take care about lifting boards and stones. They're not usually lethal unless you're allergic, but a bite is likely to hurt like hell and make you sick as a dog for a couple of days."

Lucas explains to Alexei and the Russian goes pale and curses. Apparently, he dislikes snakes even more than Lucas. Josie is the only one unfazed.

"I guess, since I grew up here and they were always around, they just don't bother me," she says. "I've never known anyone who was bitten by one, if that's any consolation."

Working in the dark, and smelling cucumbers every time the wind shifts, Lucas doesn't find much reassurance in her words. All he can do is move quickly and quietly to execute their plans.

It takes about half an hour to get all three ATVs to the bottom of the ravine. They end up lowering Boo in the backpack all by himself because Josie is afraid that Lucas's ATV might swing or twist as it is moving and crush the cat against the cliff face. Lucas doesn't bother to point out that the same could happen to her as she abseils down alongside it to operate the winch. They have already resolved that she is the best one for the job, he doesn't fancy another fruitless argument, and he doesn't want to add to her worries. In the fifteen minutes it takes her to hike down to the mobile home park, cross the ravine, and return to them, Lucas and Alexei have moved the equipment across the ravine and positioned it to be hauled up.

Though he won't admit it, Lucas sits on his ATV with his feet well off the ground while he waits for Josie because he is afraid of the snakes. He notices without commenting that Alexei is doing the same thing. Boo is still inside the backpack, and very unhappy about it, too, but Lucas cradles him against his chest to keep him from falling to the ground.

They somehow manage to lift the vehicles up out of the ravine faster than they lowered them, and by three in the morning, they have reached the cabin. They unload the ATVs and camouflage them with brush, let the cat out of the bag, give him food and water, and settled down for a few hours of sleep. Alexei, they put in the loft on the side with the skylight. They give him a note asking the reader to call Josie's friend in the Williamsport police and tell him that if anyone should come after them here in the woods and overcome Lucas and Josie, he must take one of the ATVs and go knock on every door in the trailer park until he finds someone to help him. It's slim odds anyone would find them given the route they took and the fact that the cabin is undocumented, but they all agree they should be prepared for any contingency.

By silent agreement, Lucas and Josie make their bed in a pile of cushions and sleeping bags in the far corner of the cabin. It's only one large room and the loft, so there is no privacy, except for the illusion that Alexei allows them by calling down goodnight and making a show of putting the ear buds for Josie's smart phone into his ears and turning his music up.

"He's sweet," Josie comments with a smile and she strips down to her sports bra and knickers beneath the covers.

"He fancies himself a bloody matchmaker," Lucas grumbles as he pads barefooted around the cabin checking the locks on the doors and windows.

"He's giving us _time_," Josie says, shining a torch on the floor before him to light his way back to her.

Hearing the aching and the longing in her voice, Lucas doesn't want to talk about Alexei anymore.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	19. Nine Ways to Cook an Egg

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Eighteen: Nine Ways to Cook an Egg_

LUCAS WAKES WITH that particularly well-rested feeling that one gets after recuperating from being thoroughly exhausted. When he looks over and sees the source of his exhaustion sleeping soundly beside him, he can't stop the grin that comes to his face. The grin turns to a frown as he remembers their plans for the day include collecting the indemnity document from the bowling alley locker where Josie has instructed Harry to have it left, getting Josie's lawyer to read an approve it, arranging to have the John Doe body dumped in the woods, and getting Alexei out of the country. As eager as he is to finish his mission and see Alexei and his family safely relocated to the UK, Lucas doesn't want to leave Josie behind.

Josie's eyes flutter open, and the first thing she does when she sees Lucas frowning at her is to wipe her chin.

"Am I drooling?" she asks self-consciously.

"Hmm? Oh, no," Lucas replies distractedly. "I was just thinking."

"It looked like it hurt," Josie teases.

"Why, you!"

Lucas reaches out to poke her in the ribs, but she catches his hand. He reaches out with the other and then they are wrestling under the covers. It doesn't take long for him to recognize her marine corps combat training as she manages to fend him off more easily than he would have expected. Of course, he's taking care not to hurt her, but he's not sure it would be easy to overpower her if they were both giving it their all. It also doesn't help that he is over-thinking things as they grapple, and suddenly, she has him pinned on his back.

"Er, h-hello?" Alexei calls down in tentative English from the loft.

"Say Uncle," Josie demands.

"No!" Lucas laughs, and squirms a bit trying to get free, but there's a knee in his groin, pressing just firmly enough to be uncomfortable, telling him that he isn't going anywhere.

"It's clear I've beaten you," she says. "You should capitulate."

To emphasize her point, she presses a little harder with the arm she has across his throat. It doesn't hurt, but it does make swallowing uncomfortable.

"And it should be clear to you that I wasn't really trying," Lucas points out with a grin. "You never could have taken me if we'd really been fighting."

"Trying or not, I have you now," Josie tells him. "And I think you're underestimating me. I've taken down bigger men than you. You should concede."

"Bigger, maybe, but were they as well trained?" Lucas asks.

He wriggles some more trying to dislodge her, but she has his left arm pinned underneath him, and his right locked behind his head in some hold for which he can't get the leverage to break while he is lying down. The only thing he manages to dislodge is the covers, and that makes him grin in triumph.

"You know, Alexei is watching," he tells her.

"So?"

"So, you aren't wearing any knickers," he laughs.

She flushes deep red from her collar bone to her hairline, but to Lucas's surprise, she doesn't move. He starts to get a dreadful feeling when mischief lights her eyes.

"Neither are you," she tells him.

Lucas feels his whole body warm with shame, and strangely, there is a tightening in his groin that has nothing to do with her knee. It is on the tip of his tongue to tell her that men don't usually wear knickers, when he realizes that will likely only draw a lewd comment from her.

"Fine, have it your way," he says after a breathless moment.

Roaring with the effort, he uses sheer brute force to sit up. There is nothing clever or elegant about it. He's just bigger and stronger and uses his superior might and the element of surprise to push her back. As he rises, his left arm is freed and he gains the leverage he needs to free his right arm from the hold she has applied. Taking both her wrists, he shoves her backward until she lies beneath him, her arms pinned on either side of her head and her hips held firmly between his knees.

"Do you admit defeat?"

She's staring up at him with glazed eyes, panting breathlessly, and it doesn't seem as though she's heard him.

"Josie?" he asks in concern.

She only whimpers.

"Oh, Christ!" He imagines she's having a flashback to Somalia, and he releases her wrists and begins to back off.

She snaps upright, taps him on the Adam's apple, slides her fingers into his hair, holds on tight, and puts her thumbs over his eyes.

"If this were real, I'd have crushed your larynx and gouged out your eyes," she said. "You'd be strangling and blinded. I believe I win."

Lucas is appalled. In less than ten seconds, they have gone from fun and games to something really ugly.

"Hooray for bloody you," he grumbles.

Grabbing one of the blankets as he stands, he wraps it around himself, gathers his clothes, and goes out on the porch to dress.

LUCAS STANDS ON THE CABIN'S PORCH calling to a willow tit and being ignored for several minutes until he recalls that willow tits are not native to the new world and therefore the bird must be some kind of chickadee and doesn't recognise his call. Once he realizes it is not the bird he thought it was, he can see the dark patch on the throat that is much larger than what a willow tit would have. He smirks as he imagines his father's gentle chiding.

_Really, Lucas, two eyes, two ears, one mouth,_ he would say. _Look and listen twice as much as you talk, even with the birds. It will help ensure that you are speaking the right language._

_I know, Dad,_ he would reply, _but I really wasn't thinking about talking to the birds at all. It was just something to distract me._

_From that young lady, I'd wager,_ his dad says.

_Well, from something she did, at any rate,_ Lucas agrees.

He almost thinks he would feel better if he could just be angry and shout at her, but his feelings are too complex for that. At first he was horrified to imagine that he had caused her such distress. Then for a moment, he was furious that she had allowed him to believe he'd upset her that way. Then he realized that it didn't make much sense to be angry about it because, while she clearly intended to play on his protective nature by making him think she'd been frightened, there was no way she could have predicted that he would have interpreted that as a flashback to the group assault in Somalia. Finally, the thought of anyone doing such a terrible thing to her made him just want to gather her in his arms and keep her safe. By that point, he was in such turmoil from all the things he had thought and felt in the previous few seconds that he didn't know what to do, so he'd wrapped himself in a blanket and walked out.

From the corner of his eye, he spots a brown and white shape stalking across the porch towards the chickadee. Much as he would like to see a demonstration of Boo's hunting prowess, his sympathies lie with the bird, and he hisses loudly. Boo shoots about two feet straight up, startling the chickadee, which flies off into a tree, from where it chatters and scolds at Lucas for half a minute.

Glaring up at the little bird, he says, "I was doing you a favour, mate."

Boo, on the other hand is much more forgiving. He strolls over to Lucas, and begins rubbing about his ankles. When that doesn't get him the desired attention, he hops up on the railing, and in a display of balance that would shame the greatest Olympic gymnast, walks the length of the narrow, rounded rail to head butt Lucas in the arm and rub against him until he gets a scratch behind the ears. Scooping the cat into his arms, Lucas takes a seat on the porch swing and presses his cheek to the soft fur.

"What do I do now?" he asks Boo.

"Mrrrow?" the cat replies, and then cuddles against the curve of his neck and purrs.

Somehow, it's comforting to know the cat is as confused as he is.

"ALEXEI SEEMS TO THINK I HAVE HURT YOUR FEELINGS," Josie says a few minutes later when she comes out and sits so close beside him on the swing that their legs touch from hip to thigh and Boo can reach out a paw to snag her shirt and pull her closer.

"Oh, does he?" Lucas inquires a bit sarcastically. "And how did he manage to communicate that thought to you?"

"He figured out how to make the phone app translate from Russian to English," she says. "It wasn't perfect, but I think he threatened to kick my ass if I don't make up with you."

Lucas smirks and continues cuddling the cat, but he doesn't say anything.

"So…you want to tell me what's up, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?"

He sighs and decides they don't have time for him to be the stoic Englishman. He needs to tell her now so they can sort it because they only have a day or two left together.

"I don't know whether I want to hold you, or kick you in the shins," he says, "and no, I'm not too much of a gentleman to kick a lady, though ordinarily I would only do so in self-defence."

"For the record, I didn't need Alexei to tell me you were upset with me," she says. "I do need you to tell me why."

"We were having fun, and you turned it into something that was just really disturbing," he says, trying not to sound accusing.

"It might have seemed that way, but…"

"No, Josie, from my side, it _was_ that way," he interrupts.

She sighs.

"I am the youngest of five children and the only daughter," she tries to explain. "In fact, I am the only female in my generation on either side of my family, and I didn't know another girl until I started school, and by that time, I was such a tomboy I didn't _want_ to learn how to play with dolls. Keeping up with the boys has made me way too competitive for my own good.

"Yes, I intended to make you think that you had hurt or frightened me," she admits. "It never would have worked with my brothers, but I was counting on your better nature to make you ease up enough to give me an advantage. I never expected it to upset you."

"I thought you were having a flashback," he says softly.

"A flashback?" she sounds genuinely confused.

"To Somalia," he elaborates.

He hears her sharp intake of breath, and the next thing he knows, she is on her knees at his feet.

"Oh, Lucas, no," she says compassionately. "Darling, I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to think that. I know we talked about it just the other night, but in my ordinary life, I think about it so seldom, it never would have occurred to me that it would be your first thought. I'm sorry."

Her apology is sincere. Lucas knows he has no reason to be angry. They have so little time left.

"Well, I _would_ rather cuddle you than kick you," he says.

The smile she gives him is so sweet and abashed that he starts to grin.

"I think I'd prefer that, too," she says.

"Well, then, I suppose you're forgiven," he tells her. "Get up here."

When Josie snuggles close to Lucas, Boo ends up getting squished, so he climbs from Lucas's lap onto Josie's, and Lucas cuddles them both.

LUCAS ISN'T SURE EXACTLY when he became a spectator to his own mission, but after the past couple of days, it makes perfect sense to trust Josie and, by extension, whomever she asks to get things done for her. So it seems utterly reasonable for him to be loafing on the porch swing while she is pacing around the cabin and arguing with her lawyer.

"Look, Dudley, I know I don't pay you nearly the retainer my uncle LaRue pays, but I don't expect nearly as much from you," she grumbles. "In fact, this is the first time I have ever called you on my own personal business since I engaged you as my attorney six years ago. Now, I am sure Uncle LaRue would be very disappointed to hear that after six years and three thousand dollars paid in retainers, you fail to render service the first time it is requested.

"No, Dudley, I'm not making any threats. I wouldn't do that to you, and I would _never_ presume to tell Uncle LaRue with whom he should conduct his business. But when someone recommends a business to me, and when that business offers poor service, I let the one who recommends them know so they don't make the same embarrassing mistake again.

"See, that's just the thing, though, Dudley. I feel that six years of paying retainers without asking you for anything entitles me to express service just this once.

"You can reschedule your other appointments! I'm on a deadline here. Those documents could determine my financial future for the rest of my life, and I need to know by four o'clock if they are valid and enforceable so I can take the appropriate action. All I am asking you to do is read them and let me know if they're any good.

"Thank you," she finally says sweetly. Then her voice becomes stern, "and Dudley, I don't want you pawning this off on a paralegal. In fact, I am going to ask the courier who delivers them to stay in the room until I call you to verify that you handle this yourself.

"Why? Because I had to work too hard to get you to agree to it in the first place. My first call in six years, Dudley. I shouldn't have had to invoke the name of LaRue Slater to get a little help. Now, the courier doesn't know what's in the envelope, so don't discuss it with him.

"Of course, we can discuss the terms of the retainer contract when it is up for renewal, but for now you work for me under the terms previously agreed. The courier will be there between quarter after and half past twelve.

"Wonderful. Thank you, Dudley."

Josie cancels the call and sits on the swing beside Lucas with a groan.

"Am I mistaken, or did you just threaten to have your uncle pull his business if Dudley didn't accommodate you?" he asks.

"I would never do such a thing," Josie says as she texts additional instructions to her cousin Ryan, who has agreed to collect the indemnity papers from the bowling alley and deliver them to the lawyer. The agent who has been assigned to put them there will have to pick the lock because Josie actually rents the cubicle for her Tuesday night bowling league. Her cousin will have to retrieve the key from her house. As far as Ryan is concerned, they're just some financial documents relating to her military retirement benefits that she picked up on her way out of the house last Tuesday, put in the locker for safekeeping while she bowled, and forgot to take home. She has to get them to Dudley today, and she absolutely doesn't have the time. "Uncle LaRue and Dudley have a business relationship that goes back to before I was born."

"Yeah, but I suspect that you help Uncle LaRue more than old Dudley does, and as a result, he values your opinion a lot more than Dudley's."

"I suppose that's possible," Josie agrees, "but unless he's declared incompetent, Uncle LaRue makes his own decisions. I wouldn't try to take away his autonomy just to spite Dudley, and I suspect that fifty years of friendship trumps one whiny grandniece."

"But Dudley doesn't know that, does he?"

Josie smiles slyly. "Probably not, but only because he doesn't know me, and the only reason he doesn't know me is that he's never made any effort to cultivate me as a client. I'm just an annual retainer check to him."

After several moments of silence, Josie says coyly, "You know, we have nothing to do until Ryan texts me that Dudley is finished reading."

"And he's not even collecting the documents until noon," Lucas recalls.

"So, now what?"

They're quiet for a while longer, and then Lucas says, "Do you think Alexei could be persuaded to stay in the loft for…er…" He checks his watch. It is nine in the morning. "…three hours?"

Josie chuckles and slouches against him.

"You are shameless," she says.

"Not ordinarily," Lucas says with a wicked grin, "but you are a bad influence."

LUCAS RELUCTANTLY AGREES that it would be too rude to banish Alexei to the loft for the remainder of the morning. He is very straightforward in telling Josie that he only cares about his manners because she does, and he carefully avoids contemplating the professional implications of his behaviour. He can't even say that he finds Josie irresistible because he hasn't sincerely tried to resist her even once, and his only hope of avoiding a reprimand is if Alexei agrees not to mention his carnal tryst during debriefing.

When Josie points out that they haven't eaten yet, they decide to go in and cook breakfast together with Alexei. As they are working, they try to teach Alexei how to order breakfast. That is how Lucas discovers that he actually knows nine ways to cook an egg.

"You know, seeing you with that chef's knife the other day, I never would have guessed that you could cook," Josie interrupts.

"I am a man of many talents," Lucas tells her.

Josie snorts.

"Knife skills just don't happen to be among them."

"All the top chefs have _sous chefs_ working under them to do that sort of thing," Lucas replies defensively.

"But I'll bet it's hard to become a top chef with crap knife skills," Josie teases.

"Good food is all about taste," Lucas replies with finality. Then he takes the discussion back to eggs. "Of course along with the basic cooking methods, you can do so many things with shirred eggs, _oeuffs en cocotte_, and coddled eggs…"

"And frittatas and omelettes are really just scrambled eggs," Josie points out.

"And eggs Benedict is the best thing that ever happened to a poached egg," Lucas suggests.

"Plus the multiple variations with different sauces, meats, and breads," Josie adds. "Then there are devilled eggs and pickled eggs, but I don't like the hardboiled yolks. I tend to choke on them."

"Then you wouldn't like Scotch eggs," Lucas tells her.

"I'd eat the sausage and the white," she argues. "You could have the yolk."

"Who wants the bloody yolk without the sausage?" Lucas demands to know.

Alexei puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles shrilly. When he speaks, Lucas has to translate for him because the phone is charging so Josie will have it to use later.

"He wants to know if we could stop talking about eggs and start cooking them."

Josie laughs and apologizes. She is more than happy to oblige and puts Lucas and Alexei to work making toast, grating cheese, and finely dicing ham and vegetables for omelettes.

To Lucas's chagrin, Josie declares that Boo will be the first one served. He gets a two-egg omelette with ham and cheese. When she catches Lucas smirking, she sticks out her tongue.

"He's got to eat, too," she says.

Lucas scoffs.

"If he's half the hunter you claim he is, he'd have caught his own breakfast by now."

Josie frowns.

"Seems to me, he was trying to, before some great oaf scared his breakfast away," she says. "Did you do it just for spite?"

Lucas sticks his lower lip out in a pout.

"I didn't fancy seeing a bird ripped to pieces right in front of me," he says.

"Well, then, because of your tender heart, your growling stomach will have to stay empty just a few minutes longer," Josie tells him.

"I'm fine with that," Lucas says. "I'm rather fond of birds."

When Josie gives him a quizzical look, Lucas smirks enigmatically. It's not very impressive as far as secrets go, but finally, there is something about him that she can't discern with just a glance.

Even without Lucas or the phone to translate, Alexei gets the gist of the conversation when Josie puts the first plate on the floor for Boo and Lucas looks quite put out. He didn't really believe she was actually cooking for the cat.

Alexei snorts with amusement and says, _"Cheer up. Just because she likes the cat more does not mean she likes you any less."_

Lucas scowls at the Russian.

"_Not funny,_" he snarls.

Josie ignores them both. She is too busy petting Boo.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	20. Dangerous Games

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Nineteen: Dangerous Games_

THE END OF THE MISSION IS HURTLING TOWARDS HIM and Lucas is a bit surprised to find that he is not eager to return home. True, he is quite fond of Josie and fully expects a dressing down from Harry when he gets back, but after eight years in Russia, he never wanted to leave England again. It's strange to think now, that he doesn't want to go back just yet.

He tries to tell himself that it's not just Josie making him want to dally. He wants to believe that he needs some time off, a proper holiday, but he knows that's not the case. This mission _has_ been a holiday compared to his usual work, even after everything went awry. He idly wonders how Harry would react if he were to say he wasn't coming home right away, that he had eight years of leave time coming and he's decided to take some of it now. He knows he would never do it, but it is an amusing thought.

Josie is out on the porch talking to Harry at this very moment. Dudley has already called and confirmed that the letter of indemnity is sufficient to protect her against any civil suit, so she is finally helping Harry to orchestrate Lucas and Alexei's escape from the country. She has given him coordinates on the farm where his FBI contact can dump a body in the woods at the base of a tree stand where a hunter is bound to discover it in the fall before it the local scavengers ravage it too badly. Alexei's dental records have already been lost in an office fire, and Josie has promised that the difference between American and Russian dentistry will not be a problem. She has supplied her friend in the police force with a plausible explanation for the county medical examiner should that small discrepancy come up in the investigation.

At the same time as the FBI is faking Alexei's death, Dimitri's helicopter-pilot contact will be leaving a helipad in New Jersey, destined for a hayfield a few miles away from the staged accident. As soon as they can confirm the body-dump, Josie will lead Lucas and Alexei to the extraction point on foot. In less than twenty-four hours, they will be on a ship bound for England. Josie will return to the cabin and take one of the four-wheelers back home, and then, late at night, she will return with a truck and quietly retrieve the other two.

Even if they'd had access to all their resources, MI-5 wasn't likely to dream up a better scheme, and Josie's plan definitely better than the one Lucas brought into the U.S., but he still doesn't like it. He also recognizes that the reason he doesn't like it is that it leaves Josie with all the risk. He knows that if he were to mention his concerns to Josie, she would either take offence that he had so little faith in her planning or mock him for worrying. She has taken every reasonable precaution to protect herself. The Swiss account will provide for her criminal defence, though Lucas fully intends to browbeat Harry into negotiating immunity agreements for her as quickly as humanly possible, and the letter of indemnity will pay for any liability in civil suits. Sharing his doubts with Harry would likely only earn him an admonition about getting personally involved with an asset.

And really, that is why Lucas is reluctant to leave. Despite his best intentions, Josie isn't just an asset anymore.

_"YOU SHOULD ASK HER TO COME WITH YOU_,_"_ Alexei says, taking a seat on the sofa beside Lucas.

_"I already did," _Lucas replies. _"She refused. Cited work responsibilities, but I have a feeling if it weren't her job, it would be her family, or her house, or the bloody cat."_

_"When a broken heart finds its other half, nothing can hold it back," _Alexei says sagely. _"Ask her again. She will not say no."_

_"What makes you think her heart is broken?"_ Lucas asks.

_"She is beautiful, brave, intelligent, charming, and caring,"_ Alexei says. _"A woman like that would not be alone otherwise."_

_"This is real life," _Lucas scoffs, _"not a bloody romance novel."_

_"Ahh, but don't such novels only reflect life as we all wish it would be?"_ Alexei asks. _"The honourable man wins the day and the hero always gets the girl."_

_"Yeah, well, I'm no hero and Pushkin never wrote a spy novel."_

_"That doesn't mean you and she don't deserve a happy ending," _Alexei prodded. _"Ask her again. She will say yes."_

_"Look," _Lucas says on a sigh, _"the fact is, I'm glad she turned me down the first time. Asking her was a mistake. People in my line of work are meant to be alone. Lovers, partners, wives, they become targets, they make us vulnerable."_

Now it is Alexei's turn to scoff.

_"That first requires her to be vulnerable," _he says. _"You forget that I was there when she handled you like a prized dog in the show ring. She can take care of herself. She only hesitates because of your uncertainty. You are the one who is afraid." _

_"That still doesn't give me the right drag her into my world," _Lucas says.

_"She has already leaped in with both feet,"_ Alexei points out, _"and with her eyes wide open. She knows the risks, and she will not be afraid."_

_"I know that!" _Lucas hisses. _"It doesn't matter if she's willing or that she's brave or that she can take care of herself. She's better off far away from me."_

_"I think that's for her to decide."_

_"She already did," _Lucas reminds Alexei, and himself. _"She said no. Now leave it."_

To make sure Alexei does as he asks, Lucas gets up off the couch and storms out.

LUCAS CATCHES JOSIE'S PUZZLED LOOK as he slams the screen door behind him and tramps across the porch, but he ignores her. Boo is stalking another bird, and partly because he is fond of birds and partly just for spite, he picks up a stone and slings it at the cat. Boo springs straight up into the air when the stone strikes the ground just in front of him sending a spray of dirt over him and Josie shouts, but the bird takes flight so Lucas is satisfied. Ignoring Josie's indignant words, he wanders a few yards into the forest and sinks down behind a large tree.

For safety's sake, he knows he can't go far. He really shouldn't have left the cabin at all, but he needed to put some space between himself and Alexei before he punched the Russian in the mouth. The bloody fool just doesn't understand that however much he may want it, he and Josie can never have more than just these few days. There are at least a dozen reasons why it would never work, but even before they could fail in any of those ways, GCHQ would have to approve the relationship. If Josie were an ordinary American citizen, it might have been possible, probably even easier than it had been with Elizaveta; but for an American military officer, especially one with the rank and connections Josie has apparently cultivated over the years, the chances of passing the vetting required to marry an MI-5 officer would be considerably closer to none than slim.

_Marry?_ he thinks disgustedly. _Have you lost your bloody mind?_

He scoffs quietly.

"Mrrrow?"

Lucas looks up and sees Boo standing there studying him, head tilted quizzically sideways. He hisses at the cat and shoves him away with his foot, just shy of actually kicking him. Undeterred, Boo approaches from the side and head butts his elbow in a bid for attention. Lucas grabs him roughly by the scruff of the neck, intending to throw him several feet away, well out of his personal space, but Boo goes completely limp in his grasp. He is already purring, trusting Lucas implicitly, and suddenly, Lucas feels like a complete arse. Instead of throwing the cat away from himself, he gathers him in his arms, holding him close to his chest. Boo squirms and wriggles until his chin rests on Lucas's shoulder. Lucas instinctively reaches up to scratch around his ears. With his cheek pressed against the incredibly soft fur and the purr roaring in his ear like a motor, Lucas concentrates on breathing and tries to bring his chaotic thoughts into order.

WHEN LUCAS RETURNS TO THE CABIN, Josie and Alexei are playing backgammon. Judging by her colourful language, Josie is losing badly.

"I suck at this game!" she says with feeling as Alexei capitalizes on what seems to be only the latest of many mistakes. "Something about the strategy just escapes me, and it doesn't help that my mental arithmetic is crap."

"Then why do you play?" Lucas asks.

"Why does anyone ever do anything they haven't mastered?" she replies. "To learn. To improve. To indulge the vain hope that they might someday not actually get their asses handed to them by someone infinitely better! What were you doing out in the woods?"

"Just what the bears do," he lies.

"You know, we do have an outhouse for that," she reminds him.

"I was afraid of getting splinters," he grumbles.

The words come out more harshly than he intends, but to her credit, Josie merely raises an eyebrow. Lucas almost wishes she would snap back, accuse him of lying, and demand the truth. Then he would have something with which to convince himself and Alexei that he has no prayer of ever having a serious relationship with her.

"It's almost lunch time," she says instead. "Why don't you take my seat, see if you can't snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, and I will fix us something to eat?"

Lucas doesn't think he can tolerate another conversation with Alexei right now, so he replies gruffly, "I'd rather catch the news."

With Josie watching in puzzlement from the couch, he crosses the room, picks up the remote control, turns on the television, and puts the volume up loud. Alexei's disappearance is the lead story on all three local stations. One of the reporters, a slender blonde woman with a Slavic name and dark brows, actually pronounces all of the Russian words correctly. Lucas thinks it is a bloody shame that, from what he's seen of American news broadcasts, her nose is too big and her breasts are too small for her ever to get work outside of the local television market without first having cosmetic surgery.

When she starts interviewing a young man who claims to have rented a car to Alexei less than twenty-four hours ago, Lucas turns to Josie in surprise.

"How did you arrange that?" he demands.

She responds coyly, "I have my ways."

Lucas is already irritable, so that answer isn't good enough.

"I want the truth," he insists.

"Fine. I blackmailed him," Josie admits. "I know a secret that could send him to jail, and I have evidence to prove it. I used it to make him help me."

Lucas glowers at Josie, looks back at the screen, and frowns. The kid can't be more than eighteen.

_"His English wasn't very good, but he had a credit card and an International Driving Permit,"_ the clerk is saying. _"His team just won the International Little League Championship, so half the people in town probably know who he is."_

"What kind of secret can a boy that age have that could possibly be worse than covering up a kidnap and murder conspiracy?" he asks.

"Production, possession, and distribution of child pornography," Josie says flatly.

Lucas feels his guts knot. He can imagine no circumstance under which the woman with whom he thought he was falling in love would keep such a thing a secret. _Christ! She was a military cop! If anything, she should have felt obliged to turn him in. _He can feel a bitter taste in the back of his throat and swallows hard against it.

Taking a few deep breaths and then trying to keep his voice a monotone to disguise the hurt in it, he says, "I need more, Josie. I need to understand."

She shrugs.

"All right. It isn't my story to tell, which is why I tried to put you off," she says, "but I don't want to argue about it. You'll probably never meet him, so once I tell you, you just forget about it, understood?"

Lucas shakes his head. "I'm not agreeing to anything until you tell me the truth," he says. "If I don't like what I hear, we might have to rethink a number of things."

Josie's dour expression tells Lucas she is clearly not pleased with his lack of trust in her, but what does she expect when she surprises him with another secret every time he turns around?

"He was a student in my Honours English class just a day past his sixteenth birthday. His girlfriend was less than a week shy of her fifteenth. For his birthday, she had sent him some positively pornographic photographs of herself and of the two of them together. I caught the idiot looking at them on his smart phone during my class. I didn't say anything at the time, just confiscated the phone and went on with the lesson.

"He came back with his girlfriend to collect the phone at the end of the day. She admitted to being a willing participant and to sending those photos of her own free will. They begged me not to tell their parents.

"These were good kids, Lucas, they were just _irredeemably_ _stupid_," she tells him with feeling. "I explained to them that the age of consent in Pennsylvania was sixteen, so she was underage when they made the pictures. I had read some of his messages, and found he had asked her to send them to him, which, technically, since he was over sixteen at the time and she was under, was a federal crime. He had also sent them to his e-mail account, which…"

"Which hung him on the distribution charge," Lucas realizes. "So what did you do?"

"I gave them all the legal facts and advised the boy that, if I turned the phone in, he would go to jail and be forced to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life.

"Some of our laws in this country are ridiculously screwed up," Josie laments. "So are some of our ideas about sex and morality. A girl consents to sex with a boy a little more than a year older than she is. She photographs the act and sends the pictures to him. There's no parental supervision, no teaching of morals, values, responsibility, self-respect, or even safer sexual practices to prevent it. Now, suddenly the boy is a child molester and pornographer, the girl is a victim, and the parents are off the hook? I don't think so!"

"So, what did you do, Josie?" Lucas demands. He doesn't disagree with anything she has said yet, but he's getting tired of waiting for the answer to his question.

"I kept the phone," she says. "I used it to blackmail them both into graduating high school and going on to college. Moreover, I told them they each had to maintain a C+ average in every class and a B overall. Finally, I told them I didn't care if they continued to date or not, but if the girl turned up pregnant, or if I heard any gossip about an abortion or a morning-after pill, the deal was off.

"That's when she burst into tears and confessed that the pictures had been taken several weeks before and she was already in the family way and wanted to keep the baby. Then the boy started shouting. He thought she was on the pill, she might had forgot a couple of days. He should have used a condom. He would have if he had known she wasn't taking the pill properly. Like I said, they were good kids, just _inexcuseably_ stupid. They'd made some effort to protect themselves because they presumably cared about their futures and one another, but they weren't smart enough to get it right.

"Once I shut them up, I impressed upon them that the terms about graduation and grades were still in force. I told the girl that she needed to fess up to her parents about the baby and not get pregnant again before she had her high school diploma. I insisted the boy get a job, and told him that if she kept the baby, I needed to see cancelled checks made out to the girl's mother every month for child support. He got the job at the car rental agency on his own, so there's no solid connection to me there. He's going to Penn College part time now, Lucas, and she's scheduled to graduate high school in June, probably with honours. She wants to become a nurse. They live with her parents, spend weekends with the baby at his mother's, and have a long-range plan to get married and buy a house of their own."

Lucas just smirks bitterly. There is no sense in getting upset, but he still isn't happy with what she has told him.

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" he says. "And it always makes you look good."

Josie frowns, perplexed.

"So…you mistrust me now because…what? I tried to help a couple of foolish teenagers? Or I tried to cover our trail without consulting you?"

Lucas just shakes his head. "It's not that," he says, more disappointed than angry now. "It's just…you're cocky, Josie. You've gone beyond self-confidence and into hubris. This is a dangerous game you're playing, and if you make just one mistake, people are going to die. I don't want one of them to be that kid because I know you'll blame yourself, and I sure as hell don't want it to be you!"

"Then what _do_ you want Lucas?" she demands heatedly. "I know I'm not infallible. You've already heard about when I was captured in Somalia. Do you want me to tell you about the time Bezruchenko caught me in his bedroom and I had to pretend I was there to pleasure him so he wouldn't think I was snooping? Or would you rather hear about the kid who spent three months in a military prison because I misfiled the evidence that would have cleared his name? Maybe I should tell you about the partner who took a shotgun blast in the face for me because I decided we couldn't wait for backup."

At some point in her speech, her words lose their venom. She sighs and runs a shaking hand over her hair.

"I'm sorry," she says. "All I can say is, the last time I did any of this cloak-and-dagger stuff, I was the hunter, not the prey. I was also the boss. I made the decisions, and my team took my orders and followed my lead. They had more input than I have allowed you, but they also had local knowledge and assets. We had more resources, including offices from which to work, an expense account, access to Federal databases, and a support team of forensic specialists to help us figure out who the hell we were chasing. _And_ we were working _for_ the Federal government, not hiding _from_ it!

"I don't like involving that kid any more than you do, but I know he will stick to his story," she says. "It gives us a bit of a smokescreen with the bad guys and provides me a little protection from the authorities after you're gone because it places Alexei in Williamsport nearly thirty-six hours after I hooked up with the two of you."

"Did you realise when you coerced that boy that the people who are looking for us will drop by and interrogate him?" he asks.

"They won't have to," Josie says, and nods toward the television. "There's video of Alexei at the rental office."

Lucas follows her gaze to the image on the television. It's grainy and the sunglasses obscure the man's face, but he's wearing the right clothes and he's the right height and build. It's not incontestable evidence, but if he were searching for Alexei right now, it would be enough to make him start looking where the car was found.

"My God, Josie!" he shouts. "How many people have you brought into this thing?"

"As many as I needed to make it work!" she snaps.

Then the man in the video removes the sunglasses, and Lucas realizes in horror that the image looks like Alexei because it really _is_ Alexei.

"Christ, woman!" Lucas gasps. "Are you out of your bloody mind? Do you have any idea how _dangerous_ that stunt was?"

Josie takes a deep breath and says calmly, "Lucas, it had to be done. Now, I don't know if your work allows you to form strong bonds of friendship with people, but the Marine Corps motto is _semper fidelis_, _always faithful_, and we take it very seriously. I have friends from my days in the service who will do what I ask _just_ because I am the one doing the asking. That's how we managed to have a cop with Max and Elena around the clock. Unfortunately, none of my friends looks like Alexei, so he had to do it himself.

"He was safe with me, Lucas. I was carrying my knives and a gun-a properly register gun with a fully legal concealed-carry permit, I might add-and we kept my car running and off camera. We did it at a time when there were no other patrons around. I called the kid from a single-use phone in advance so he could have the paperwork ready, and we were in and out in under five minutes. I might not be a trained MI5 officer, but I'm not an effing amateur, either. So give me some credit!

"I'm sorry if you don't like my making unilateral decisions, but I knew what needed to be done, and I had the influence to make it happen. I chose to take care of things sooner rather than later because I knew there was a good possibility that we would find ourselves hiding out here with only a cell phone to connect us with the rest of the world. There wasn't time to confer with you."

Lucas shakes his head in exasperation. He lost control of this mission ages ago, and he probably doesn't want to know how many people are involved now. He wants to trust Josie. He _does_ trust Josie, or at least he trusts her motives, and what's more, he trusts her to have sense enough not to bring in anyone who isn't completely reliable. After all, she's in as much danger as he is now, and once he's on that helicopter, she's at even greater risk. The only reason he has found to doubt her is that she keeps surprising him by taking the initiative without consulting him.

"I'm tired of surprises," he tells her. "I believe your heart's in the right place, but I need to know what's going on. I need to know everything else you have planned for this mission. Not just the parts that involve me. Everything."

Josie gestures to the TV again. The reporter is droning on about the police and FBI investigating as the camera cuts to an image of a saloon car parked on the edge of a lake surrounded by police tape.

"That's about ten miles away from here, as the crow flies," Josie tells him. "But the average hiker, out for a nature walk, would never come this way. There is a boggy swamp between here and there, and your average hiker would sooner stick to higher and drier ground on the other side of the lake. For that reason, it will take two or three days for search and rescue to look in this direction. By then, you and Alexei will be long gone, and I'll have the ATVs back home. When they find the body, the story will be that he went for a hike in the state game lands and got hurt, then lost, and died of injury and exposure."

"And if search and rescue doesn't find him by the fall, you'll make sure a hunter does."

"Exactly."

"And how do you make sure no one connects the corpse to you?" Lucas asks.

She gives him a frustrated look.

"We've been _over_ this," she says. "This property borders the state forest surrounding that lake. So do several others. They'll say it's just chance that he ended up here."

"I don't like trusting chance," Lucas grumbles.

"We haven't much choice," Josie points out.

"Who else have you brought into this operation?" Lucas asks. "I need to know, Josie, if you want me to continue to trust you. At this point I don't know what I'll do if I decide I can't, but one more surprise _will_ be one too many."

Lucas watches her count on her fingers and feels his stomach flop over when she needs a second hand. He can understand her keeping quiet as she thinks to avoid revealing more than necessary about her assets. He would do the same, simply because in his business, there is no telling when an ally might turn against you, and revealing your friends puts them at risk. Still, the silence grates on his nerves.

"Josie."

"Three," she grins at him.

"That's not funny," he tells her.

"Sorry," she says. "Honestly, I'm sorry if I upset you, but the news story was arranged while you were still sleeping that first morning. I felt if we could get ahead of the story by just a few hours, that it would give us some breathing space. I know I should have told you sooner, but I knew you wouldn't take it well and I really didn't want to piss you off. So, there you go, another failure on my part. I really do know I'm not infallible."

"Josie, I didn't mean it that way, and you know it," Lucas says.

"Yeah, I do," she admits. "I'm just not very happy with myself right now. But in all honesty, Lucas, it really is only three people. There's the cop who agreed to keep someone trustworthy with Max and Elena without alerting the Feds that we suspect them; Dudley, who will only know as much as Harry reveals in the indemnity papers; and the guy who ditched the rental car at the lake. That's all. Any further surprises will not be my doing."

"What about your cousin and the kid they interviewed on the news?"

"They're pawns," Josie admits bitterly. "I enlisted their help but they have no idea what they're really doing. The kid met Alexei, but thinks he's trying to escape insurmountable gambling debts by faking his own death. When the media confirms Alexei is the body in the woods, he'll just assume a bookie and or a loan shark caught up with him. My cousin, well, you know the story I told him. Only three people really know anything about this mission, and none of them know the whole truth."

"Well, that's a relief," Lucas says, feeling ready to make up with her now. "But I still don't like this plan."

"And _I_ don't like the idea of some poor vagrant who probably hasn't experienced kindness in so long that he forgot how it felt and likely died a violent death rotting out there in my woods instead of getting a decent burial!" Josie roars unexpectedly. "But it's _one_ corpse versus four _lives_, so it's the lesser of two evils. I just have to live with it, so you do, too!"

Suddenly, she is shaking and tearful. It has never occurred to Lucas that handling the details of the body dump might disturb her more than anything that she's done for him so far, and he can't believe that she is still angry with him for his doubts now that she has explained everything. It is on the tip of his tongue to snap back at her that he is ready to live with the consequences of their actions but isn't so sure about her when he realises she is not angry, but hurting deeply. In that moment, any thought of defending himself flies away as he crosses the room in three strides and pulls her into his arms. She fights him, at first, but he dodges her swing and just holds on until tight until she sags against him, sobbing, and they sink to the floor together.

It takes a surprisingly long time to soothe Josie. Lucas sincerely tries to understand what has her so upset, but all he can get out of her is that the dead man whose body they are using belonged to somebody who will never know what happened to him. When he points out that their corpse's friends and family likely never would have known what became of him anyway and that at least their plan means his death will not have been for nothing, she only sobs harder. Feeling helpless and useless, he finally shuts up and waits for her to cry herself out.

"WHEN I WAS FIFTEEN, a group of us skipped school to go to a concert," Josie says hoarsely an hour later.

They're sitting round the table in silence, eating tuna sandwiches that Alexei made for them while Lucas was comforting her. Neither of the men has felt brave enough to start a conversation, and neither of them has the courage to interrupt now. Alexei keeps his head down and continues eating. Lucas holds his breath and waits.

"One of my friends decided she was going to try to sneak back stage and meet the band," Josie continues flatly. "The rest of us told her it was a bad idea but we didn't try to stop her. We agreed to meet her at a diner a few blocks away. She never showed up. I was the one who called the police and told her parents because the others were too afraid of getting in trouble. To this day, we don't know what happened to her. That's all I'm going to say about it."

She keeps her voice low, but Lucas can hear the tremor in it. He knows she blames herself, and he knows there is no way he can absolve her of that guilt. He mulls over her confession for a moment and then nods.

"I'm sorry this is bringing up painful memories for you," he says, hoping he is right in thinking she needs him to take a business-like approach at this point, "but we don't have time to arrange a different solution. We need a body that can pass as Alexei to discourage people from looking for him. Are you sure, if push comes to shove, that you can stick to the story?"

"If push comes to shove, I'll tell the police what I just told you," she says quietly, but more firmly. "Any reasonable person should be able to see how the discovery of a poor lost soul decomposing on my family's property would bring back upsetting memories."

Her voice becomes choked and whiny as she speaks, and she has to stop and gulp in air before she can continue.

"It will have the advantage of being true," she says more evenly, "and might even save me from having to offer a theory to explain how he came to be there."

Lucas nods. He doesn't want to upset her anymore.

"Good enough," he says.

"Is it really?" she asks bitterly.

Her caustic tone can't burn him now that he knows the truth. He reaches across the table and squeezes her hand.

"Yeah, it is."

They finish their lunch in strained silence. Josie is still upset, but she seems to want to be left alone to bring her emotions under control herself. All Lucas wants to do is comfort her, but he suspects that he would only piss her off. Alexei wants to know what is going on, but the atmosphere in the room is enough for him to know better than to ask. Lucas's sandwich sits like a stone in his belly.

They clear the table with only a few words of _please_ and _thank you_ spoken. Josie goes outside while Alexei and Lucas wash the dishes, and when Lucas explains why Josie became so overwrought, Alexei shakes his head.

_"I am sorry this pains her,"_ he says. _"Is there anything we can do?"_

_"Unfortunately, it is too late to change the plan,"_ Lucas tells him. _"She seems confident that she can stay on script, though, without falling apart. Right now, I think she would prefer just to drop it."_

Alexei nods, and they both fall silent when Josie returns to the cabin.

THE THREE OF THEM spend the next hour alone together in silence. Lucas sits at one end of the couch, flipping channels on the television but watching nothing. Alexei stays in the kitchen area of the tiny cabin trying to tune the radio to a faint, staticky station that he thinks might be broadcasting Russian music, news, and sports. Josie sits on the couch opposite Lucas cuddling Boo and scratching his ears. She has her legs stretched across the cushion between them and her bare feet tucked under Lucas's bum. Lucas finds it comforting that she wants to maintain that contact even when she clearly wants him to leave her alone.

Suddenly, Boo leaps from Josie's lap and tears off across the cabin floor, startling all of them. As he draws his gun, Lucas crosses to Alexei and shoves him down in the corner against the cupboards behind him snarling in Russian for him to take cover. Josie rolls off the couch, gun in one hand, knife in the other, tips over the heavy oaken coffee table and crouches between it and the sofa for protection. Too late, Lucas realizes that he has allowed her to position herself as the first line of defence between him and the door. His instinct to protect her wars with his duty to protect Alexei and the conflict ties his guts in knots.

The cat is running erratically around the room, jumping against walls, climbing the ladder to the loft and leaping off it, stopping dead, glancing around, and tearing off again, up over the back of a chair and leaping into mid-air. A snort from Josie draws Lucas's attention. When she meets his eye, she breaks into a grin, and the next thing he knows, she is rolling on the floor in helpless laughter.

"The idiot is chasing a housefly!" she manages to gasp.

Lucas is not amused, but at least he can relax. When Josie stops laughing, he helps her right the heavy coffee table, but before he can go back to flipping channels on the television, she snatches the remote and turns it off.

"We need to do something all of us can enjoy without benefit of a translator," she declares. Pulling a deck of cards out of the drawer of the coffee table, she calls sweetly, "Alexei? Poker?"

The Russian frowns, then grins._ "Da."_

Looking to Lucas, she asks, "You play?"

Smirking, Lucas just nods.

"Perfect," she says. "Get some potato chips…"

"You mean crisps?"

"…and dip out of our supplies," she continues as if he never interrupted. "Have Alexei get the drinks, root beer for me, and I will set up the card table."

"I THINK YOU'RE BLUFFING," Lucas grumbles. He has to think that. It's his only chance to stay in the game. If he loses this hand, he won't have enough left to ante up on the next one, and Josie knows it.

"It will cost you to find out," she tells him, and gives him a feral grin reminiscent of a cat that has cornered a mouse.

"A pound of flesh, no doubt," he murmurs, but he can't be too annoyed. He's been having too much fun watching her, studying her, and trying to work out her tells.

Alexei has already folded this hand and gone off to use the outhouse, but he's been holding his own all afternoon whereas Lucas has twice had to borrow enough chips to keep playing. He tries not to flatter himself to think that Josie is just watching him more closely than Alexei and therefore is reading him better, but the alternative, that he, an MI-5 officer, is so transparent, is a little frightening. Maybe Josie is just a phenomenal poker player and the language barrier and cultural differences account for Alexei's comparative success.

Then again, maybe not.

"All right, I'm all in," he says, and shoves the last of his chips into the centre of the table. "What are you holding?"

She sighs heavily.

"A whole lot of nothing," she tells him, putting her cards on the table. "Eight high."

"Seriously?" he gasps, hardly able to believe that he has won this hand. He spreads out her cards so that he can see them all. She has a two of diamonds, a three of hearts, a five and a six of spades, and an eight of clubs.

"Well," he tells her, unable to quell the grin that overtakes him, "my lucky day, then. Ten high."

She gives him that feral-cat grin again, and says, "Congratulations, I guess we can keep playing."

Lucas inexplicably blushes.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	21. It's All a Matter of Timing

_**Bisman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Twenty: It's All a Matter of Timing_

LUCAS HUMS WITH PLEASURE as Josie runs her fingers through his hair. It is full dark now, and they are outside on the porch swing. Lucas lies stretched out full length on the swing, his head resting in Josie's lap at one end and his feet propped up on the armrest at the other. Alexei has once again retired to the loft to give them some privacy on the lower floor of the cabin, but it is such a lovely evening that Josie and Lucas can't bring themselves to go back inside yet. The cicadas are whirring all around them and a lone mourning dove is cooing sadly not far away. A bullfrog belches from the ravine, and several more join in before they go silent again. Far in the distance, Lucas hears a chorus of barks and yips that sound almost like laughter.

"Coyotes," Josie murmurs before he even thinks to ask.

"Really?" he asks in surprise. "I thought they were out West in the desert, California, Arizona…"

He suddenly discovers his knowledge of American geography is sorely lacking as he knows he should be able to name several more desert states, but can't.

"Actually, I think they're native to the Great Plains," Josie tells him, "but they're one of the few species to expand their territory since human encroachment. They're incredibly clever and adaptable, and they're starting to interbreed with domesticated strays around here."

"That doesn't sound good," he says upon hearing the dour tone at the end of her statement.

"It's not," she replies. "Mixed pups are harder to domesticate, make unpredictable pets, and are less fit to survive in the wild. Of course, that's just my opinion. You'd have to educate yourself about them to know anything more than what I think."

He hears the pack barking again. Maybe it's just his imagination, but they sound closer. He knows they seldom attack humans, but…

"Where's Boo?"

"I made sure he's safe inside," Josie answers on a chuckle.

Even in the dark, Lucas blushes to realize that she has followed the thread of his thoughts and knows he is worried for the cat's safety. It should probably worry him that he is so transparent to her, but the concern dies in the back of his mind as soon as it sparks another thought.

"It's no wonder you beat me," he says.

"Hmmm?"

"At poker," he says.

"Oh, that!" Josie laughs. "I guess women's intuition is a distinct advantage."

Lucas can't imagine what he's said that is so funny, and when he turns his head to look at her suspiciously, she laughs even harder.

"You…were cheating," he declares, stunned that he never realized it earlier.

She dissolves into giggles.

"How?" he demands.

Josie shakes her head and continues chuckling.

"Tell me," he says. He tries to sound intimidating, but he isn't very successful as he's now laughing along with her.

Josie just shakes her head again.

Not realizing how precarious his position will become, Lucas twists around and reaches up to tickle her ribs. Josie yelps and stands up so quickly that Lucas tumbles from the swing to land in a heap on the floor. As he lies there groaning, the swing comes forward and hits Josie in the back of the knees, making her drop into the seat hard.

"Are you ok?" she asks, her concern well masked by her laughter.

"That depends," Lucas grumbles. "Will feigning injury get me an admission of guilt?"

"Not in this lifetime," she tells him.

"I want to know how you did it," he demands, wrapping a hand lightly around her ankle.

She leans forward, tucks a finger under his chin, tips his head back, and places a sweet kiss on his lips.

"It'll cost you," she says silkily.

Then she gets up, shakes him loose, and walks away.

The swing comes forward and bumps Lucas on the shoulder, but it doesn't distract him from watching her bottom sway as she strolls along the porch and into the cabin. As the screen door falls shut behind her, he scrambles to his feet to follow her inside.

_SHE WASN'T JOKING, _Lucas thinks as Josie's wicked mouth traces a meandering trail down his torso. Somehow, this interrogation isn't going quite as he had intended. He'd started out planning to make her divulge her secret to beating him at poker, but she's already stolen his breath and his strength and his will to resist.

_And my sanity if her lips stray much furth…_

"Urrrgh! Josie! Please, stop!" he pants as her tongue does something to him that should be physically impossible.

"What's the matter?" she asks teasingly. "Don't you like it?"

"More than you can imagine," he tells her.

"Then what's the problem?" she asks, now sounding truly concerned.

"It's our last chance," he says. "If tonight has to last me the rest of my life, I want it to be more than just you…servicing me."

He doesn't know whether his answer is crude, pathetic, or overly romantic, but it is honest, and he hopes that is enough. For a moment, Josie frowns at him thoughtfully, then she smiles sweetly and moves to kneel beside him.

"I want that, too," she says softly.

Lucas sighs in relief and kneels up facing her.

"I'm glad," he says, and leans down to place a kiss on her lips.

MAKING LOVE IN REAL LIFE is nothing like the movies. Cinema invariably overlooks the awkward moments and uncomfortable pauses. Redford and Streisand weren't performing on a hardwood floor in front of a staring cat in _The Way We Were,_ and Richard Gere didn't have to accommodate Debra Winger's bad back in _An Officer and a Gentleman. _But with a thick quilt, some strategically placed cushions, and a shoe thrown just hard enough to make a point, they manage to perfectly unite, each of them giving and receiving pleasure equally.

Lucas kneels on the floor, sitting back on his heels, arms outstretched, palms up, an expression of rapture on his face, like a supplicant before an altar. His goddess beams down at him, and the knowledge that she is pleased with him warms him to the core. When she steps into his embrace, settles astride him, and begins to move, it is all real again, and it is wonderful.

At first, her movements are slow, graceful, and gentle, and it is a struggle for Lucas to restrain himself to match her leisurely pace. Just moments ago, she had him on the brink of exploding. Even now, her every touch tingles, every breath against his skin sets nerve endings alight. To maintain control, he focuses on the things he is doing to her instead. He delights in the silkiness of her hair as he runs his fingers through it, the salt of her sweat on his lips when he places a love bite on her collarbone.

It is almost over before they begin as her every muscle clenches tight around him. Her legs squeeze around his waist, and her arms lock so tight around his upper body that he can barely breathe. Her hands are fisted in his hair, and the way her teeth have latched onto his earlobe, he thinks she might draw blood. They spend an eternal moment frozen in place until they finally manage to drag each other back from the precipice. Neither of them wants this night to end, but the best they can do is to make the most of the few hours they have left.

"Slowly," she whispers softly in his ear.

His entire body is tense and aching with the animal urge just to take her now, but as certain as he is that she would happily accommodate him, he will not let himself do it. This is their last chance. It will be the memory they each hold onto for the rest of their lives. They must share equally in creating it. It has to be about both of them.

"Touch me," he pleads on a ragged gasp.

"Where?"

"Doesn't matter."

Gradually, her fingers untangle from his hair. One hand kneads the muscles at the back of his neck while the other glides up and down the length of his spine, the fingernails lightly scraping against his skin. The rhythmic motions relax his tense muscles, and eventually he can breathe again.

He begins placing kisses on any exposed flesh his lips can find, her neck, her jaw, behind her ear, her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips, until she leans back from him. With one hand still hooked round the back of his neck to keep herself from toppling backwards, she puts a finger to her lips kisses it, then transfers the kiss to him by touching his lips before she lets the finger slide down over his chin, along his neck, and down his midline to his navel.

Lucas shudders as she dips her finger inside, and she chuckles softly.

"I have been obsessed with your belly button since the first time I saw it," she says.

"Why?"

"It's so…tiny…really, and perfect…and really fucking sexy," she says as she lightly rims it with her fingertip. "I keep wondering what it would be like to kiss it."

"Oh, God!"

Lucas can only moan as she slides off him and leans down to satisfy her curiosity.

Her mouth is warm and wet and far too inquisitive, her lips are soft, and for reasons that he cannot explain, he has to thrust his hips when her tongue delves inside his middle. He has never imagined that his navel could be such a strong erogenous zone, but in less than a minute, he is begging her. For mercy.

"Please," he whimpers. "Please. I want…I want…"

"What, Lucas?" she asks huskily.

He can only make a keening whine as she licks around the edge of the aperture.

"Tell me," she encourages him.

He tangles his fingers in her curls and brings her up to face him.

"Both of us, together," he finally manages to gasp.

"So do I," she tells him with an eager smile, "but I couldn't go the rest of my life without having done that to you, and it seemed like my last chance."

Lucas gives a harsh laugh that turns into a needy sob at the end.

"You're absolutely bloody bonkers, you know that?"

"Yes," she says, and settles astride his hips once again.

LUCAS AWAKES WITH A CONTENTED MOAN. The last thing he remembers is an explosion of light and sensation overwhelming his consciousness. He is about to let himself slip back into a comfortable doze when something warm and wet slides against the ridges of his ear.

He smirks and says quietly, "Josie, if that's the cat, he's going to become a pelt."

Sharp teeth clamp down lightly on his earlobe and he hears a husky chuckle.

"Listen to you, threatening my cat," she says, "and I didn't even make you wash first. You're an ingrate."

He rolls over on his side to look at her and says, "My apologies. I'll have to find a way to make it up to you."

"You're welcome to try," she says with an inviting grin.

Her skin is shimmering with perspiration. A drop of sweat has pooled at the notch between her collarbones, and that gives him an idea.

"Perhaps we should start with getting you cleaned up," he says.

He dips his head to lick the moisture from her skin, and can't stop a lusty laugh when he hears her emit a shuddering gasp.

"MAYBE, IF WE DON'T GO TO SLEEP, morning will never come," Josie murmurs as she presses a kiss to Lucas's breastbone.

He pulls her closer, moves so that their bodies are touching in as many places as possible. He wishes there was a way for them to share the same skin.

"I wish it was that easy," he sighs, and rubs her back.

"Why can't it be?" she asks.

"Fine, come back to England with me," he offers.

"Stay here with me," she counters.

"That's why," he tells her.

Josie sighs.

"I guess it's all a matter of timing," she says. "If we had met four years ago, just after I retired from the Corps and before I started teaching, I would have left with you in a heartbeat. Now, I have a niche here, a place where I belong, commitments, expectations, family responsibilities. I have a life."

"And if Harry had sent me here two years ago, just on the heels of coming home from Russia, when I still felt like I wasn't really wanted, needed, or trusted, I would have stayed," Lucas tells her. "Now, Harry relies on me. My team looks to me for leadership, especially now that our Section Chief is in hospital. I have assets who won't trust anyone else. My career's back on track, it's everything I imagined it would be when I first joined up as a naïve kid."

Josie snuggles against him.

"I'm not sure whether that's wonderful for us or whether it sucks," she murmurs sleepily.

"I think it's a little of both," Lucas mutters into her hair. "It's just life."

THE ROUGH TONGUE CARESSING HIS ELBOW definitely does not belong to Josie, but the sun is already well up in the sky, so Lucas doesn't mind the intrusion so much. Alexei is puttering about in the kitchen area. Since he is obviously busy cooking, Lucas doesn't bother him to step out. Instead, he wakes Josie and they quietly pull their clothes on under the covers.

_"What's for breakfast?"_ he asks when he and Josie approach the table.

_"Ah, good morning!"_ Alexei greets them. _"Did you sleep well? The bloody cat kept me awake all night."_

Lucas smirks and translates for Josie.

"We slept fine, thank you," she replies with a chuckle.

Lucas translates, and adds, _"And thank you for keeping the cat occupied and allowing us to have the night together."_

_"I was happy to do it, my friend," _Alexei says. _"I am sorry the two of you couldn't find your happy ending."_

_"As am I," _Lucas admits, _"but it may be for the best. Knowing what I do would have caused her too much worry."_

_"She will worry for you anyway," _Alexei says.

_"Perhaps," _Lucas agrees, _"but not as much as if she were with me every day."_

"Excuse me! I'm feeling a little left out here," Josie interrupts teasingly.

"Sorry, we were just talking about the cat being a bloody nuisance," Lucas says.

"No, you weren't," Josie insists. "Not in that tone of voice."

"No, we weren't," Lucas admits, "but I'm not going to translate. Now, I think I paid my dues last night. Are you going to show me how you cheated at poker?"

THE MORNING PASSES IN A BLUR. Lucas can't believe that even after fetching Josie a drink, he failed to notice that she could read his cards in the highly polished glass cabinet doors behind him. They wash the breakfast dishes, pack their gear, and before they know it, the time has come to head out into the woods and verify the body dump.

Of course, Boo wants to tag along, and, of course, he manages to slip out as they are leaving. It takes the three of them working in concert almost ten minutes to corral the wily cat and shut him up safely in the cabin. As they tramp away, Lucas can't help looking back over his shoulder. The sight of the cat sitting in the windowsill watching them abandon him is as comical as it is pathetic. When Josie catches him glancing back, she nudges him slightly with her elbow.

"In five minutes, he will forget that he wanted to come with us," she says. "Less, if he spots another housefly."

Lucas huffs a quiet laugh and falls into step beside her.

They walk for about fifteen minutes before Josie stops them.

"We need to move as quietly as possible from here on," she whispers. "If our friends are dealing honestly with us, they should have come and gone more than an hour ago. If they're still out here, they are up to no good and there is likely to be a fight. I don't want them to know we're here until we are right on top of them. If you vary the timing of your footsteps…"

"You'll blend in better with the natural environmental sounds, I know," Lucas says.

"Learned that in spy school, did you?" Josie teases.

"Actually, my dad taught me," he replies. "He's an avid birdwatcher, and I used to tag along when I was a boy. We used the same technique to creep up on nesting water birds."

"You are a man of many talents," she says.

Lucas just grins in reply before he translates the important bits for Alexei and gets a nod of understanding.

It is impossible to be completely silent when walking through the forest. Even in high summer, deeply shaded woods have dried leaves on the ground. But by being deliberate in their movements and taking care to lift their feet and set them down on top of the leaves rather than shuffling through them, Josie, Lucas, and Alexei manage to walk the last few hundred yards to the body dump coordinates without sounding like a herd of buffalo trampling the underbrush.

At the base of the final hill, Josie indicates an uprooted pine.

"If anyone is waiting for us, we will be able to see them from behind good cover," she whispers. "If it looks like trouble, don't shoot until I give the word."

"If it looks like trouble…"

"Remember where you are," she interrupts him, "There are rednecks in the trailer park downstream from the cabin who will know the sound of gunfire if they hear it, and you don't have a silencer for you weapon. They will also know that there is no reason for anyone to be hunting these woods at this time of year. Fire one shot, maybe two, they'll think it is one of the neighbors shooting a groundhog digging in the flower bed. More than that, and they will know someone is up to something. I'd rather not risk them calling the police, or, God forbid, coming to investigate the matter themselves."

"Well, then, what do you plan to do if there is trouble?"

"I guess that depends on whether we can find another way out of it," she replies.

Lucas doesn't like her answer.

"I'll wait as long as I can," he promises, "but if I think the time has come to shoot, I'm not waiting for your permission. Sorry."

Josie clearly doesn't like his answer either, but she's not going to argue the point.

"Fine. Just give me a chance to handle it first," she whispers, and before he can reply, she's creeping up the slope toward the fallen tree.

_SOONER OR LATER, things have to start going our way_, Lucas thinks when he peers down the far side of the slope to find three burly men and a tall redheaded woman in a trench coat and trouser suit who broadcasts _FBI_ waiting for them.

Two of the men are carrying Kalashnikov rifles, a dead giveaway that theirs is no more an officially sanctioned operation that Lucas's mission, and one of them has an American M-16. All three have silencers. Josie makes sure Lucas knows about the silencers by pointing her hand in the shape of a gun, pointing at the tip of the finger that represents the barrel, and mouthing, very slowly, the word _si-len-cer._

Lucas gives her an unamused smirk and she sticks her tongue out at him.

"So, what's the plan?" he whispers as he crouches down beside Josie and Alexei.

"I'm going to…"

Before she can finish, she's cut off by a whispered curse from Alexei.

_"What is it?" _Lucas demands.

_"I left the skylight open."_

_"So?"_

_"The cat…"_

_"I very much doubt that the bloody cat can climb out of the skylight!"_ Lucas growls, _sotto voce._

_"He already has,"_ Alexei replies, and gestures into the woods.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	22. Catastrophic Encounter

_**Busman's Holiday**_

_Chapter Twenty-one: Catastrophic Encounter_

A BROWN AND WHITE TABBY CAT is remarkably well-camouflaged for creeping through the dappled shade of the Pennsylvania forest in late summer, so it takes Lucas several moments to spot Boo stalking purposefully down the path leading to the site of the body dump. At first, he smirks, because Boo is prowling about like a lion, which, he is sure, Boo, like all cats, believes himself to be. Then he realizes that if Boo catches their scent and comes scampering up to them or goes tearing after a butterfly or a bumble bee or some other interesting bug, they will lose the element of surprise, which is the only advantage they have.

"Shit!" Josie whispers when she follows Lucas's gaze and spots the cat for herself.

They all cringe and pray silently when Boo freezes, right front and left hind paw held aloft in mid-stride, and looks right at her. Then they breathe silent sighs of relief when he seems to make a point of ignoring her just for spite.

At least he isn't coming to them.

Unfortunately, that means he is heading directly for the extraordinarily interesting strangers who did _not _lock him up in the cabin and leave him behind.

_This is going to be interesting,_ Lucas thinks. _I just hope it isn't one of those times when 'interesting' is not a good thing._

Boo approaches the woman first. She gives him a look of disgust, which he ignores, and he tries to rub against her ankles. She steps away, and not to be defeated, Boo waits until she is standing still to approach her again. This time, she raises her foot to show him the sole of her shoe, and he stops. When she puts her foot back on the ground he tries once more, and the woman steps away.

"Get lost, you mangy stray!" she growls, and kicks a pile of dry leaves at him.

As Boo skitters away from the woman, Lucas reaches out beside him and grabs Josie's arm on the off chance that she might take exception to her cat being called a mangy stray. When he feels her prying his fingers off her sleeve, he looks at her and isn't entirely sure that the murder in her eyes isn't meant for him. Still, she is quiet and surprisingly calm, so he removes his hand from her forearm willingly.

Boo next approaches the nearest of the three men who makes his feelings clear with a loud hiss. Boo doesn't seem the least bit perturbed. He just stares at the bloke disdainfully for a long, cool moment. When he turns away, it's as if the man has ceased to exist.

The second man approaches with a hand outstretched, seemingly eager to pet him. Whether Boo senses a hidden danger or is just being perverse in that way that cats sometimes are when they shun affection that is readily given to pursue the attention of another who would sooner avoid them, Lucas can't tell; but the man follows him around, calling, _'Zdjes catyonik!'_ for a good two or three minutes before he finally gives up and growls,_ 'Trakhat bloshinyy meshook!'_

_At least Josie didn't understand that one,_ Lucas thinks. _And now, we know for certain that our FBI 'ally' is the mole._

The third man has been watching events unfold without comment for several minutes. Now, when Boo approaches, he crouches down, reaches out, and waits for Boo to rub against his palm.

_"__Khorosho catyonik,"_ he croons sweetly as Boo passes back and forth beneath his hand.

Lucas can't help but smirk. _Under other circumstances, Josie might have quite liked that bloke, _he thinks.

They wait another minute or two watching as Boo makes friends with the third man, then Lucas feels Josie tense beside him.

"Get ready," she whispers, silently slipping her pack off.

"For what?" Lucas asks.

Then he hears it. The one, catastrophic revelation that can make their whole plan go straight to hell.

_"Eta koshka ni shal'noy." _

"He says, 'This cat is not a stray,' one of the other men translates, and they are all four instantly on alert.

The man who is petting Boo reaches for his gun. As he stands up, Boo reaches out to catch his sleeve in a bid for more affection…

"That," Josie says.

…but unintentionally scratches his hand instead. The man shouts and kicks Boo, who yowls pain and outrage and goes flying into a nearby tree. Josie rises to her feet, shouting obscenities that would have made the guards at Lushanka blush, and before Lucas knows it, the man has knives buried hilt deep in each shoulder and thigh.

Acting instinctively, Lucas shoves Alexei down into the dirt, pulls his gun, and fires a shot at the woman's feet as he moves to take cover behind a nearby tree. He can hear Josie flitting through the forest off to his right, trying to get their targets in a crossfire.

There's a series of vicious hisses, and the ground explodes a few feet away from him. One of the men goes down screaming, not from Lucas's bullets, for he is now keenly aware of how loud a gunshot can be in the woods and hasn't fired anymore, but with a knife in his back.

The woman and the remaining man turn in confusion, weapons raised, but without the noise of a gunshot to track, they don't know where to aim.

Lucas can't see Josie anywhere. She's either very quiet or perfectly still, but whatever she's doing, he's certain she's ready for whatever comes next.

He waits a moment, lets their targets search the forest a little longer, waits until neither of them are looking his way, and moves to his left. There is a group of pines about ten yards away that will afford him better cover.

As he runs, he calls out, "I don't suppose you would consider surrendering?"

Silent bullets strike the ground close on his heels, but none of them hit him. As he makes the cover of the pines, he hears a grunt and a thud and the cocking of a gun.

"I'm all out of knives," Josie calls out, "and you are outnumbered."

The woman wheels around and fires in the direction of Josie's voice, but only manages to send up a puff of dead leaves. If the woman is the centre of a clock and Lucas is at twelve, then Josie has managed to move around to six. Since the woman is at the bottom of a depression in the earth, they can both fire on her without the risk of hitting each other.

The woman stands alone below them, frantically aiming her gun into the forest. Two of her men writhe groaning on the ground beside her. The other one is still and silent.

"You have three seconds to decide," Lucas calls. "One…two…"

The woman drops her gun as he begins to say 'three.'

LUCAS ORDERS ALEXEI TO STAY WHERE HE IS until the mole and her associates are secured. Before Josie and he approach, he orders the woman to put her hands on her head and kick the guns out of the men's reach. Only after she has done that and obeyed Josie's further command to kneel on the forest floor with her ankles crossed do they approach.

"I'm a federal agent," the woman growls.

Josie stares at the woman for a moment as if she is a new and particularly disgusting species of parasite.

"I know exactly what you are," she says in a soft, cold voice. "I used to hunt people like you for a living."

Tossing Lucas a pair of handcuffs, she gives him terse instructions.

"Take her coat, search her, cuff her, tie her to that tree," she says indicating a young pine a few feet away.

"Lady, if you don't want to do time for interfering with a Federal investigation…"

"If she doesn't shut up, gag her," Josie interrupts the tirade brusquely.

While Lucas is occupied with the woman, Josie checks on Boo. The cat seems to have recovered quickly from his ordeal. He is sitting at the base of a large tree with his hind legs splayed open, licking himself, and when Josie picks him up he makes a startled sound before he wriggles into her embrace and snuggles against her with his head under her chin. When he glances up, Lucas can see that Josie is not just petting the cat. She is stroking practised hands over every inch of the small creature's body searching for lumps, bumps, blood, and any other possible sign of injury. When Boo doesn't complain at all, Josie places several kisses on his head, presses her face against his fur, and sets him gently on his feet. It only takes a moment for the cat to be distracted by a leaf or a shadow or an insect, and when he scampers playfully away with no sign of a limp, Josie nods with satisfaction and moves to attend to the men.

First, she sees to the man who took her knife in the back. He is pale and panting, and there is a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. After a moment's consideration, she puts down her pack, pulls out a large wad of gauze and dons a pair of surgical gloves. She rips the man's clothes open around the knife and with one firm, sharp tug, yanks the blade from his flesh, which elicits an agonized moan. Then she packs the wound with gauze, causing more miserable whimpers, and tapes another pad firmly over it. Finally, she helps him to shift into a more comfortable position leaning against a rock, making sure to place him so that his own body weight is applying pressure to the wound. Lucas isn't sure how much good it will do in the long run, but for the moment, the man seems to breathe easier.

"I'm no doctor, but I'd bet you have a haemothorax," she says. "Might become a pneumothorax, considering the knife wound probably penetrated the pleural cavity. I would advise slow shallow breaths."

She snaps her fingers and points to her face, demonstrating, and it is only then that Lucas realizes the man who was doing the translating can't. So he briefly relays Josie's diagnosis and instructions.

Next, she checks on the one who kicked Boo and suffered four separate wounds for it. He has not stopped moaning since he left off screaming. He is in obvious pain, and while Josie does nothing to increase his suffering, she does nothing to alleviate it either. She is not cruel, but she is utterly unsympathetic.

"You're lucky that cat is resilient," she says. "If you had actually harmed him, an innocent creature who only wanted more affection, well, I'd make sure you wished for death long before you found it."

"He'll live," she says to Lucas, then returns her focus to her patient. "I'm all out of gauze for bandages, so I'll have to bind your wounds with rags. They're clean but not sterile, and I don't really care if you get an infection. I don't have anything for your pain that doesn't thin the blood, so you'll just need to keep still until we find someone qualified to treat you. Of course, I don't know what blood vessels I might have hit, so in the next couple of minutes, it might all be moot, anyway, if I nick an artery."

Lucas translates most of what she says as he moves the woman to the tree Josie had indicated and uses the belt of her trench coat to bind her to it. He leaves out the more upsetting things about infection and arterial bleeding, not out of kindness because he doesn't want to worry the bloke, but because he and Josie really don't need him freaking out on them right now.

No one speaks for the next few minutes while she tends to the man's injuries. She is none too gentle, but not deliberately cruel. Still, he is pale and shaking by the time she is finished. Lucas can't find any sympathy in his heart for the bloke.

Approaching the last man, Josie leans down and presses her fingers to his neck. She doesn't seem surprised to feel no pulse, and she doesn't seem to regret it either. She just closes his eyes and pulls her knife from his chest. After a moment's hesitation, she pulls a tube of ointment from her first aid kit, shoves the whole thing cap first into the wound, and turns him over on his stomach.

"I didn't mean to do that," she says simply. "He was coming toward me as I released the knife so it struck him higher than I was aiming."

Lucas doesn't know how to respond to her. There's no remorse in her voice. She's just stating a fact. She's so calm and detached he can't begin to guess what she is thinking, and he has no bloody idea what the tube of ointment was all about. She could be in shock, or she could just be angry that he fired his gun without waiting for her permission.

"I'll need a sharp stick," she says, "about an inch in diameter and one to two feet long. It has to be a natural break, not sharpened with a blade."

She points to the lower branches of the trees that surround them.

"These pines are full of dead, brittle wood," she says. "It should be easy to find something."

Lucas looks around and sees that what she says is indeed true. The lower branches are heavily shaded and there are hundreds of lethal-looking broken ends pointing out of the trunks.

"Ok," Lucas says cautiously, and calls the request to Alexei. "What is it for?"

"Well, he's the right height and weight," Josie says thoughtfully, nudging the body with the toe of her boot. "Right hair colour, and he'll have Russian dental work, but we can't say he had a tragic misadventure if there's a knife wound in his chest."

"Wait a minute," Lucas says. "You're talking about mutilating the corpse?"

"I'm talking about staging a fatal accident," Josie responds coolly. "Wasn't that the plan all along?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," Lucas agrees reluctantly.

"You keep an eye on these three," she continues. "I'll be back shortly."

Before she can get too far, though, Lucas steps over to her and takes her by the arm.

"Look, Josie…"

"Lucas, I served in uniform for eighteen years," she says softly, carefully keeping her back to the woman bound to the tree nearby. "I have killed other men before him, at closer range, and with more intent. I don't regret it, not when it's unavoidable. We have an opportunity here to make things go our way. We should take it."

"I don't disagree," he says. "It's just…"

Josie waits a moment, but when he can't find the words to finish his thought, she does it for him.

"It disturbs you that it doesn't bother me."

"No," Lucas disagrees, but she is close. "It confuses me."

"Why?"

"What's the difference between him and the vagrant?"

She shrugs.

"He isn't some ordinary guy who fell on hard times and didn't have a safety net to catch him," Josie explains. "He came here looking for a fight, and he got one. He lost. This was a bad guy, Lucas. Now, he'll be good for something."

"And it's as simple as that for you, is it?" Lucas asks.

He was fine with the body dump when the plan was for someone else to leave the body there for them. Now that they have to stage their own accident and use a still-warm corpse to do it, he is surprised to find himself a bit squeamish and stunned to realize that Josie is not.

"Yeah. It's that simple," she says. "I'm sorry if you don't approve but…"

"It's nothing to do with that," Lucas cuts her off, "but after last night, it's a bit of a shock to realize that I barely know you."

She gives him a look that is a mixture of annoyance, amusement, affection, and grief.

"Well, you've trusted me this far," she says. "I guess you know me well enough."

He gives her a lopsided smirk.

"Yeah, I think I do," he agrees.

Josie grins back, a little sadly, Lucas thinks, and then tramps off into the woods.

BY THE TIME JOSIE RETURNS with four sturdy, slender poles, probably the trunks of young saplings, Lucas guesses, Alexei has found a good, sharp stick, Lucas has gagged the captives, searched them and the corpse, removed their identification and dressed the dead body in the clothes Alexei was wearing when he disappeared.

Josie gives Lucas an approving look and says, "We're all on board with the plan, then?"

Lucas nods.

"So far, yes," Lucas agrees. "Got a present for you."

Josie raises her eyebrows inquisitively, and Lucas gently lobs the keys he found in the woman's pocket to her.

"Ahh, transportation," she says, looking down at the insignia on the keychain and then at the woman. "A Chevy? Please, tell me you didn't swipe a Suburban from the motor pool."

The woman refuses to answer.

"That's what you did, isn't it?" Josie murmurs after a moment.

Still no response.

"Did you at least remember to disable the LoJack?"

The woman stares in stony silence.

"Oh, my God!" Josie gasps. "You really are that stupid!"

The woman calls her a filthy name, in Russian, and Josie smirks.

"Thank you," she says cordially.

At the woman's confused frown, Josie's smirk turns into a grin.

"You let your pride get the best of you and just gave up the only leverage you had," she explains.

The woman still doesn't get it, and Josie sighs in frustration.

"As long as I thought there was some remote chance that you were a legitimate Federal Agent, I had to be careful about how I treated you," Josie elaborates. "As much as the Feds annoy me, we're still on the same side. Now that know what you are, I might shoot you just for spite. So, don't piss me off."

She turns to walk away, and then turns back.

"If it is a fleet vehicle, and you forgot to disable the LoJack, I _will_ shoot you!"

Turning towards Lucas, she catches him smirking and growls, "I'm _not_ joking."

"Of course not," he agrees. "Just venting."

Josie opens her mouth to reply, then shakes her head. The she goes very still and frowns.

"What is it?" Lucas asks.

"She speaks Russian," she says.

"Yeah, so?"

She looks at the body of the translator.

"So, who was he translating for?" Lucas says aloud, pulling Alexei over to stand against a large tree and then standing in front of him.

Josie picks up the M16 and looks from one of the wounded men to the other. The man who hissed at Boo is the only one who never spoke while they were watching, and he was the one carrying the American rifle.

"It was you, wasn't it?" she asks.

The man ignores her, and she nudges him with her foot.

"I asked you a question," she says. "Please, don't make me force an answer."

The man turns slightly away from Josie.

She sighs and thumps him, _hard_, right on the wound in his thigh.

"Ow! Fuck! You crazy bitch!" he yells, and writhes again in pain.

Josie looks to Lucas with a smirk.

"Yeah, it was him," she says.

Lucas breathes a sigh of relief, but still keeps a wary eye on the woods.

"Now, we need a likely spot for our corpse to stumble and impale himself," Josie says. "See if you can find a large stone or a root or a hole for him to trip over, but don't disturb the surroundings too much."

The ideal spot is found quickly and only a few yards away when Alexei stumbles over a large, rotting, fallen branch buried in leaves. He goes down hard on all fours, his left hand landing on one end of a stick as thick as his thumb causing the other end to snap up and smack him in the chest. The incident is so similar to what Josie has planned to stage that it might be considered a sign.

"Well done!" she cheers Alexei, and Lucas translates the praise.

The plan isn't complicated, it just requires a great deal of brute strength. Josie doesn't want to leave any drag marks in the earth for some enterprising young investigator to find, so Lucas and Alexei lift the dead body and carry it the fifty feet or so to the spot where Alexei fell. Josie crouches on the ground and holds the sharp stick Alexei found pointed end up, aligning it with the wound from her knife. Then she yanks out the tube of ointment as Lucas and Alexei lower the corpse to the ground. As the body is impaled, the stick widens and distorts the fatal wound making it impossible to match it to any weapon.

"You'll never get away with this!" the mole calls out to them as they work.

Once the body is positioned to her satisfaction, Josie approaches her with the kind of smile that would worry Lucas if he didn't already know what she had in mind. Still, he stays close by in case either of the women should surprise him.

"I'm not too concerned," Josie says. "You won't be around to testify."

The woman's eyes widen, but that is the only sign of her fear.

"Even if you get rid of me, when they find the body, there will be an investigation," she says. "They'll be able to tell he was murdered. Don't you watch cop shows?"

"Actually, no, I don't," Josie tells her. "But I very much doubt the ME will be able to prove murder. I rolled him over so blood wouldn't pool in his back, but first I plugged the wound so it wouldn't drain out of his chest until we had changed his clothes and positioned him where we wanted him. Now he is bleeding onto his clothes and into the ground just as if he had really fallen there. With that stick poking out of his chest, there's no way in hell they're going to match the wound to my knife, and if they identify my DNA on him, well, I was at the Little League championship game. They mingled with the crowd a bit. It probably got on him there. Once we get you and what's left of your goons out of the woods, there won't be any remaining sign of trouble for anyone to find."

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that," the woman replies smugly.

Lucas has barely a heartbeat to consider the meaning of her tone before he hears the hiss. Even though he knows the sound of suppressed gunfire when he hears it, his mind does not have time to process it before the first slug lands in his right thigh, taking his leg out from under him.

LUCAS IS ASTOUNDED by how a bit of lead smaller than the first joint of his index finger can simultaneously make his entire limb go numb and hurt like hell. Still, he manages to shove Alexei down to the forest floor, and, lacking any suitably large trees nearby, he literally lays on his back on top of the Russian with his body angled in the direction of the gunfire to cover him. Josie has already managed to vanish into the forest.

Beneath him, Alexei is perfectly still, like a rabbit that has frozen just long enough to determine which direction to run in order to escape a predator.

"_Keep still,_" Lucas breathes, and with all the strength of his good leg pushes himself and his charge back against the nearest tree.

It's not the ideal cover, but it's the best he can do at the moment. The understory here isn't all that thick, but there is just enough brush and the trees are close enough together that someone wearing the right camouflage and moving quietly could get very close without ever being noticed.

"_Idiot!_" Alexei hisses at him. "_I am in no danger. If they want my information, they must take me alive. You shouldn't endanger yourself for me!_"

"_Unless they just want to keep you from distributing what you know,_" Lucas points out. "_In which case, killing you will be just as effective._"

"_In that case, they have already had ample time to kill me,_" the Russian replies as he shoves against Lucas's back, trying to make room to slip away.

In some dark part of his mind, Lucas is amused that this recent taste of adventure has made Alexei so bold. In a more analytical area of his brain, he is impressed that a civilian would be able to reach such a conclusion while being shot at.

"_It doesn't matter,_" he insists. "_My job is to protect you. So, when I give the word, I want you to run for the roots of the toppled tree, and don't stop for anything. When you get there, you curl up in a ball as small as you can at the very bottom of the hole and don't come out until Josie or I call you._"

"_Where is Josie?"_ Alexei whispers, only now aware that she has gone.

Lucas smirks. Emboldened or not, the Russian is still a novice.

"_I have a feeling she's gone hunting_," he replies with dark humour lacing his voice.

These are Josie's woods, she has her knives back and one of the captured guns with a suppressor on it. Lucas has no doubt that she will somehow turn her familiarity with the terrain to her advantage. The best thing he can do now is to keep Alexei safe and be ready for anything.

"_Now keep your head down and run,_" Lucas commands Alexei. "_Go!_"

Alexei sprints up the hill through the trees on Lucas's order and dives into the hole left by the downed pine. Lucas is grimly aware that no shots are fired, so he knows they intend to take Alexei alive. It's almost a relief to realize they have no such plans for him. After eight years as a prisoner, he'd sooner die that live a captive ever again. Of course, he'd much sooner live than die, so once he is certain that Alexei has his head down, he starts looking around for better cover for himself.

The best protection he can see is a clump of brush growing a few yards away in a sunny spot created by a dead tree that has snapped off. The undergrowth in that area is dense enough to block him from view but will provide little shielding from the shooter's bullets, if he can get there at all. He doubts he'll be able to run very fast, and if the sniper can't see him, the sound of his limping stride through the detritus on the forest floor will certainly draw attention.

Ultimately, Lucas decides that he is better off to stay where he is and to try to keep the tree trunk between himself and the shooter. Even that is no easy task, though, when he can't tell where the shooter is.

"_What do you want?_" he calls out in Russian. Getting no answer, he repeats himself in English.

The only response is the eerie silence of the waiting forest.

A shrill squawk and a loud flapping of wings off to the left startle him, and he can't completely suppress the groan of pain when he jumps. The longer he waits for something to happen, the harder it is to breathe. His heart is pounding in his chest and his every instinct tells him to run, but he has nowhere to go. He looks down at his wound and sees a thick ooze of blood coming from the hole in his trousers. Knowing that there's been no injury to an artery gives him little comfort. The initial shock is wearing off and he's beginning to feel a bit queasy.

Then he hears the lethal whistling of a bullet coming through the trees again and dirt and small stones spray up at him with stinging force. With a grunt, he throws his upper body to the ground and wriggles around to put the tree between himself and the direction from which the bullet came. Only after he has repositioned himself does he feel the pain of moving his injured leg.

The FBI mole is just down the hill from him, and when she sees him scrambling for cover, she laughs and calls out, "Looks like your girlfriend has left you all alone!"

Lucas won't be baited. He doesn't call out to her, but he's not too proud to use the hag as a shield, if he can get to her.

"Come on, Igor, the woman's run off!" she calls. "Get down here and finish it."

That settles things for Lucas. He slides down the hill and crawls as fast as he can on both hands and one knee over to the woman. Keeping the muzzle of his gun pressed tightly against her neck, he loosens the knot in her trench coat belt that keeps her bound to the tree and once she is released, uses the belt to pull her close to him. With her in front of him and the tree at his back, he is as well protected as he can expect to be out here in the forest. He hates feeling so utterly helpless, but there is little more that he can do now that wait for Josie to do something or hope he gets a shot at the sniper before the sniper gets to Alexei.

"You're all alone, Lucas," the woman chuckles. "A sitting duck. What are you going to do now?"

Lucas goes cold. Josie had been careful about what she said within earshot of the woman. How could she know his name?

"Did you really think your little girlfriend was on your side?" she asks. "Wasn't it all just too easy?"

"Shut up!" he hisses, twisting the trench coat belt and tightening the cuffs until the woman gasps in pain. "Don't think you can make me doubt her, not after everything that's happened."

"So naïve," the woman snickers.

Lucas doesn't actually believe that Josie would abandon him at the first sign of real trouble. In fact, he hates that the nature of his job compels him to consider the possibility. Still, he can't help forming a plan to save himself and Alexei if they are on their own.

As he rises to his feet, the woman is forced to stand up with him. She whimpers a bit as he pulls on her cuffs, but doesn't really resist.

"A trade," he proposes. "You get the Russian and this woman, and I get out of these woods alive and free."

"Oh, now that's not likely to happen," the woman sneers. "I expect you'd sooner die than go back to Lushanka."

Lucas tries not to let his anxiety show, but he suspects the woman can feel him tense when she mentions the prison where he was isolated and tortured for so long.

"Better that I get the Russian," an accented voice calls down from the hill somewhere behind Alexei's hiding place, and Lucas's blood runs cold.

He recognizes the voice of Igor Belyakov, one of Oleg Darshavin's lackeys, and he has to work hard to suppress a shiver. If Oleg was an oafish brute to Arkady Kachimov's suave inquisitor, then Belyakov was a monstrous fiend to Oleg's brute. If one man at Lushanka had frightened Lucas more than Oleg, it was Igor. Igor wasn't an interrogator. He was a guard. He had no need for information. He had only wanted to break Lucas to see him cry.

"You can leave these woods alive, Lucas, but only with us," Igor continues, his voice coming closer. "Do what you like with the woman."

It takes a moment, but Lucas is able to escape his old fears in time to press the small advantage that Igor has foolishly given him.

"Who's been abandoned now?" he whispers smugly in the ear of the woman he is holding captive. "Stupid cow. He was only using you to get me."

"Igor, you bastard!" the woman shouts.

"I warned you that this was a dangerous game, Natalia," Igor taunts her from up the hill, and as Lucas watches in dread, he comes into view just above Alexei's hiding place. "I warned you that you were not ready. I warned you that men who hunt and kill other men for money do not make friends easily. I told you to take the money and look away, but you wanted to be involved, to make connections, to find a mentor. It is a pity that you will not live long enough to learn from your mistake."

"You double crossing son of a bitch!" Natalia rails. "You'd best grow eyes in the back of your head because…"

She sees Josie creeping out on a limb above and behind Igor at almost the same moment Lucas spots her.

"Behind you, Igor!" she shouts, in English.

Too late, Lucas gets his hand over her mouth, but the language barrier is just barely enough to delay Igor's comprehension of her warning.

Igor's head is just beginning to turn when Josie swings off the branch and hits him square in the back with both feet. He tumbles headlong into the hole where Alexei has been hiding and Josie jumps on him. Lucas hears scuffling punctuated by a thump, a grunt, and a thud. Then everything goes quiet, as if the whole forest is holding its breath.

Lucas feels his leg throbbing and his guts twisting. He isn't sure how much longer he can stand there waiting.

The silence seems to last forever.

Finally, Josie and Alexei emerge, dishevelled and dirty, but victorious.

Lucas sighs in relief.

Then he crumples to the ground as the world goes grey around him.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	23. An Uphill Struggle

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Twenty-three: An Uphill Struggle_

LUCAS NEVER REALLY LOSES CONSCIOUSNESS. Instead, he slumps against the tree at his back, unable to move, and maintains a death-grip on Natalia's cuffs while Josie and Alexei bring an unconscious Igor down and tie him to a tree. Then Alexei restrains Natalia again while Josie tends to Lucas.

"You're a bit shocky," she says as she guides him to lie down and elevates his legs on a couple of their backpacks.

Lucas groans aloud and tries not to struggle as she places one of the bags beneath his thighs. It hurts like bloody hell every time she moves his injured leg, but he knows it can't be helped. The wound needs to be elevated above his heart.

"Is this your first time being shot?" she asks.

"I was grazed once, about a year ago," Lucas tells her.

He can tell from her smile that she pities him in his naivety.

"This is going to be nothing like that," she says as she removes his belt. "It isn't going to get any better. Not for a long while. You get to the point where your body gets used to the pain, in the same way that your nose gets used a smell. The nerves eventually get overstimulated, and they stop reacting until there is a new stimulus. You think it's feeling better, and then you move wrong or move too fast or bump it or jar it, and suddenly it feels just like it did about ten seconds after you got shot."

"Your bedside manner is appalling," Lucas gasps. If her chatter is meant to distract him from what she is doing, she really needs to talk about something else.

"I'm just trying to prepare you," she explains as she tears a shirt from the remaining backpack into strips and folds them into squares. "I'm going to use your belt and this shirt to make a pressure bandage to help prevent further blood loss. It's not going to be pleasant."

"You mean it's going to be brutally painful," Lucas translates.

"And you criticize _my _bedside manner," Josie jokes, but Lucas can hear from the tension in her voice that she is worried for him. "It's a slow bleed, so I'm not _that_ concerned, but there is a risk of infection that I can do nothing to prevent. As soon as you get on the boat or ship or whatever is taking you home, you need to have it treated, even if it's just to have someone wash it out with antiseptic, or even whiskey, if that's the best they can do. And you need a shot of prophylactic antibiotics, just as soon as you can get it."

She is flailing her hands nervously as she talks. Lucas thinks it is the first time he has seen her ill at ease. It makes him anxious about just how much it's going to hurt to have his wound bound and about just how big the risk of infection really is.

"Let's get you a little more comfortable, first," she says warmly, and she promptly removes his shoes, loosens his collar, and unbuttons his shirt cuffs.

"I'm sorry I don't have a proper blanket to cover you," she apologizes, pulling a silver emergency blanket out of the pack she is holding, "but we can make do with this. It isn't that cold anyway, so I don't really need to bundle you up."

Lucas is already starting to feel slightly ridiculous, but he doesn't have the energy to resist her mothering as she tucks the blanket under his chin. Besides, it feels nice to be mothered.

"Are you ready?" she asks after fussing over him a bit more.

"No, but that's not going to stop you, is it?" he asks grimly.

"I'm sorry. It can't," she tells him. "But I think you know that."

Lucas nods, and when she holds a thickly folded strip of the torn up shirt in front of his face, he bites down as hard as he can.

The wadded rag can't completely silence Lucas's screams as Josie cinches the belt tightly around his thigh, but it keeps them from carrying out of the hollow. As she pulls the strap snug, it hurts just as she said it would. As pain shreds his nerves from his temples all the way down to his toes and back, he can't help trying to writhe away from her, so she straddles his legs to keep him still.

All he can hear above the blood rushing in his ears is Josie quietly sobbing, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" as she pulls the strap tighter around his wound.

Then it is over, and even the echo of his agony leaves him breathless. She gently pulls the rag from between his teeth and gives him just enough water to moisten his mouth.

When she takes his pulse, it's all he can do to roll his eyes and tell her, "Just leave me to rest a few minutes and I'll be all right."

"You probably will," she agrees, "but I'd rather err on the side of caution."

Lucas just closes his eyes and lets her do what she wants. No point in arguing anyway.

LUCAS WAKES QUIETLY FROM A DREAMLESS SLEEP, and the first sound he hears makes him hope he is in the throes of a nightmare.

"For Alexei, my employers already are paying me handsomely," says Igor Belyakov. "Lucas, I can sell on the open market. For MI-5 to have welcomed him back after so many years abroad, he must be very valuable to them. I was already planning to have my fun with Natalia and then kill her, but I don't know what to do with you."

"Then let me go," Josie replies. "Alive, I'll be more trouble than I'm worth, and if you kill me, well, if you knew who my friends are, you would know that would be a mistake."

Lucas hears a smack and a grunt, and the sound of a body falling into the leaves.

"Insolent whore!" Igor growls. "Do you not know there are fates worse than death?"

"Oh, yes, I know," Josie agrees, using that dark tone that gives Lucas the chills. "One of them is spending the rest of your tragically short life trying to outrun a sniper's bullet."

Lucas hears a thud and another grunt, and he can imagine Igor kicking Josie in the ribs. He wants desperately to do something to help, but prone as he is and with a bullet in his leg, there is no way he could get to Igor in time to stop him.

He risks turning his head in the direction of the voices as if he is shifting in his sleep, and through slitted eyes, he sees Igor's back is to him, but he's too far away and looming over Josie with a rifle in his hands.

Lucas opens his eyes fully and focuses on Josie. Her one eye is badly bruised and she is bleeding from her nose and mouth. He watches her until she meets his gaze and then jerks his head to indicate she should try to herd Igor in his direction.

She doesn't give any sign of acknowledgement, but she staggers to her feet, takes a lurching step toward Igor, stumbles and falls forward.

Anxious to keep enough distance between them to allow him to use the rifle effectively, Igor backs away from her a step or two. He seems well aware of the threat Josie presents, but he also appears to have forgotten about Lucas.

"You only have two choices," Josie says, struggling to her feet again. "You can let me go or you can kill me. I won't let you take me out of these woods alive, and given half a chance, I will _break your fucking neck_!"

She launches herself at him as she shouts her last words. Igor neatly side-steps and bashes her in the head with the butt of his rifle as she falls forward into the space where he was.

Josie drops like a sack of stones, but Lucas dare not spare her a thought just yet. She has given him the opportunity he needs and he must take it now.

Lashing out with his good leg, Lucas kicks Igor hard in the back of the knees. As the Russian goes down, Lucas sits up and reaches around him to grab his rifle. Keeping his hands close together on either side of Igor's head, he pulls the rifle back and across the other man's throat, choking him.

Taken by surprise, Igor squirms and struggles futilely at first. Once he gets his bearings, he fights a little more sensibly, throwing an elbow back into Lucas's ribs and trying to get his arms up inside Lucas's grip to force his arms apart and make him release the rifle. Remembering is just a few synapses away from thinking, and a moment later, Igor drives his fist into the bullet wound he made in Lucas's thigh.

Lucas screams and the sudden jolt of agony loosens his grip. Igor seizes the chance to escape, but in the struggle, the rifle sling has looped itself over his head. Lucas just barely manages to hold onto the rifle and he pulls it toward him hard. The nylon strap pulls tightly across Igor's Adam's apple and he goes down, choking. Lucas turns the rifle end for end several times, twisting the webbing tighter and tighter around Igor's throat.

Garrotting is not a quick way to kill a man. It demands a certain amount of strength and stamina, and a strong stomach to watch the life ebb out of a recently vibrant body.

But Lucas is remembering the beatings, the meals that he ate off the filthy floor of his cell after they were 'accidentally' spilled on delivery, the 'fresh air' walks in the Siberian winter wearing nothing but track pants and a threadbare jumper. He could hold on forever if that's what it took to rid the world of Igor Belyakov.

Igor kicks and struggles and makes the most horrible strangling noises. At one point, he manages to get to his knees, but a vicious jerk from Lucas takes him back down to the ground, and he does not get up again.

"LUCAS!" JOSIE CALLS SOFTLY. "LUCAS!"

From the sound of her voice, she has been calling him for a while.

"You did well," she says, and he realizes she is beside him, a hand on his shoulder, talking earnestly into his ear. "He can't hurt us now."

He is having trouble letting go. Memories of Lushanka are still boiling to the surface, making it hard to put the beast he became there back in its cage.

"Lucas, we'll need his help to carry the wounded."

Her words don't make sense. _What wounded? Was there a riot? What is Josie doing in Lushanka?_

"Lucas, you don't _have_ to kill him!"

Lucas doesn't know he's stopped breathing, but when he finally draws a deep, sobbing breath, the rush of air into his lungs clears his head. He lets go of the rifle as if it has burned him and watches anxiously as Josie unwinds the strap from Igor's neck. He doesn't want to be a murderer. As much as he wants the bastard dead, he doesn't want to let Igor have that kind of power over him.

"Is he alive?"

"Only just," Josie says, slapping the Russian's face lightly, then a bit harder. Finally, after a really good smack, Igor groans and turns away.

"He'll be all right," Josie says with audible relief.

"You had a gun," Lucas can't help grumbling. "You should have killed him when you had the chance!"

"I don't kill when I don't have to," Josie tells him. "And neither, it turns out, do you."

Her tone of voice and the smile she gives him tell him more than words how very much she approves.

He still wishes Igor dead, but he's glad that neither he nor Josie have killed him.

IT TAKES QUITE SOME TIME FOR THEM TO GET READY TO MOVE. First, they debate the wisdom of going back for the ATVs to haul the wounded out. It is a short conversation as the cons heavily outweigh the pros. Josie sits with a chemical cold pack from the first aid supplies pressed to her battered face as she outlines the problems with driving out of the hollow.

For one thing, only she and Alexei are fit to drive. Lucas could possibly manage, if the terrain wasn't so rugged, but most of their journey will be through the forest. It is too easy for an unwilling passenger to use his weight to roll one of the vehicles, even if he is tied up, so they can't safely transport Igor and Natalia. Leaving Lucas alone to guard Igor and Natalia while Josie and Alexei move the injured men is out of the question. With his wounded leg, he would be at too much of a disadvantage if one of them should get loose again. There is no way around the fact that, with seven people to transport and only two who are both fit and trustworthy to drive, they cannot make efficient use of the ATVs.

Once they have decided that riding out is impractical, it is easy to plan what they need to do next. Josie had already started on stretchers to bear the wounded men before they staged the corpse. It takes only a few moments to button up four of the heavy shirts from their packs and slide the sturdy saplings she had cut up into their sleeves. Igor and Natalia will carry the front ends of the two stretchers, Josie and Alexei will take the back. Josie will hobble them so they can walk comfortably, but not run away.

"What if we refuse to cooperate?" Natalia asks.

"Well, then, I guess you will have solved my problem," Josie tells her. "I can't let you go, and I can't physically compel you to do what I ask. That only leaves one alternative, and corpses are easy to transport."

"You wouldn't!" Natalia sneers.

"Really?" Josie asks, keeping her tone casual and a giving Natalia a slightly lunatic smile, the effects of which are enhanced by the ugly purple bruising around her right eye, the traces of blood around her nose, and the nasty cut on her swollen lower lip. "You're comfortable making that assumption? You don't know my name, or my background, where I trained, or whether I do this for love or money, a foreign power or a just different U.S. agency. Yet you think you know I wouldn't shoot you dead to make things easier on me?

"Well, let me tell you something, sweetheart," Josie's smile widens, making the cut start to bleed again, though she doesn't seem to notice, and her tone remains relaxed, but her words reveal a darker side. "I've seen a lot of big game hauled out of these woods on ATVs just like mine.

"Now, I have had one hell of a rotten day, and it all started when I looked down here and saw you. So, you go ahead and think what you want. You'll never know it when my patience runs out."

Natalia just stares at her, and Josie keeps smiling. Then all of a sudden, and without any change to her actual expression, Josie's eyes go dead.

Lucas can tell the moment Natalia realizes how much danger she is in. Her eyes widen the tiniest bit and her sneer falters. Then she takes a deep breath and looks away. Lucas isn't frightened of Josie, but there is something about her in that moment that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He can't help but wonder just what she would be capable of doing if she were forced to use coercion to secure their prisoners' cooperation. He wonders how much darkness there is inside of her and whether she can control it when she is forced to tap into it, or whether it controls her.

Next, Josie insists on finding a pair of branches Lucas can use as crutches. He urges her not to waste precious time coddling him, but when he struggles to his feet to show her that he can manage fine on his own, he finds himself hugging a tree to keep from collapsing back to the ground in a heap.

Josie is kind. She doesn't taunt him.

"I'll be right back," is all she says.

While they wait, Lucas directs Alexei in concealing the signs of their struggle. Fortunately, they don't have to completely hide the evidence of their presence. As long as no one finds the body for a few weeks, Mother Nature will take care of that with the autumn leaf fall. All they really need to do is cover up any indication of the fight with Igor.

First, he has Alexei brush away the dry leaves to reveal the disturbed surface below. There is a layer of churned up, wet leaves, and beneath that, the soil marked with clear footprints and obvious signs of a scuffle. Following Lucas's instructions and being ever mindful to pick his feet up and put them down carefully so as not to disturb the ground further, Alexei scrapes the earth with a stick to loosen it and remove any tell-tale indications of what happened there. Then he replaces the wet leaves and compresses them slightly to make them even with the surrounding terrain. Finally, he collects dry leaves and twigs, being careful not to take too many from one place, and scatters them over the top. It is still apparent that someone has disturbed the forest floor, but Lucas is confident that no one will ever be able to deduce just what happened there. With a couple of good rain showers, all evidence of their presence will be erased.

"Well done," Josie says when she returns with two sturdy, Y-shaped branches. "Did they teach you that in spy-school?"

"Actually, they did," Lucas smirks back at her. "I never thought I'd have any use for it, but I still paid attention."

"Well, I'm glad you did," she smiles, winces, and dabs at her lip, then leans the branches against the tree beside Lucas.

Going over to one of the wounded men, she removes his shoes. Returning to Lucas, she hands them over to him and says, "Lash those to the ends of your crutches. I don't want to leave any traceable evidence that we were here, particularly not little poke-holes in the ground showing which way we went."

"Actually, I am more worried about the bullets," Lucas tells her.

"The bullets are not a problem," Josie replies.

"Oh?" Lucas responds sarcastically. "I suppose you remember how many were fired and have some magical secret for recovering all of them."

"Nope," Josie says cheerfully. "I'm just going to leave them there, because I'm not worried about them. First of all, these woods are used frequently for hunting, so a bullet or two is hardly evidence of a crime. Secondly, I've never fired a gun out here, so none of them will be traced back to any firearm I own. It's one of the advantages to being very good with knives."

Lucas scowls at her.

Josie smirks back.

"You don't have to be so bloody smug."

FINALLY, THEY ARE UNDERWAY. It is slow going between four of them carrying the two wounded men and Lucas on his makeshift crutches. He can't help but think that Josie could set a faster pace if not for his injury, but even so, she stops them every thirty to fifty yards so that she can go back and try to cover their trail.

"It will get easier," she promises, "once we are out of the woods."

Lucas smirks despite the pain in his leg and the fatigue caused by too much excitement today and too little sleep last night.

Josie frowns at him.

"Why is that funny?"

"I wouldn't say funny, so much as amusing, or maybe ironic," he replies.

"Okay," Josie drawls, "I'll bite. Why is it amusing or ironic?"

"I just never thought my life would become such a cliché," he tells her.

She frowns again, more thoughtfully this time, then pulls a face, or, half a face, as she is carefully mindful of the battering she has taken on the right side.

"Out of the woods," she muses. "Of course. I'd like to offer a clever rejoinder, because I could really use some light banter right now, but I'm sorry. I've got nothing."

Suddenly, maybe because he wants to give Josie some support after all she has done for him, Lucas is bubbling over. Maybe he's just giddy, some side effect of the adrenaline, exhaustion, and blood loss.

"Well, you could tell me not to count my chickens before they hatch because we are far from having our ducks in a row," he says. "There are still too many ways for us to find ourselves up the creek without a paddle, and if someone decides to rock the boat, we could very quickly get in over our heads."

Josie just stares mutely for a moment before giving a dry chuckle.

"There you have it, then," she tells him. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

"Yeah, and I doubt you could have said it much worse," Lucas teases.

Now she actually gives him a genuine laugh.

"I'd certainly have to think about it," she agrees.

THE LAST TWENTY YARDS UP OUT OF THE HOLLOW are a brutally steep climb, and for some reason Lucas cannot discern, Josie insists that they must ascend over a section that is especially thick with rocks and roots, dead tree trunks and fallen branches

Josie sends Alexei first. He scrambles up the hill with the agility of a spider, the rifle slung across his back and a long coil of rope over his shoulder. Gaining the summit, he wraps the rope one turn around a conveniently sturdy tree and throws the rest of it back down.

Lucas is next to ascend. Josie helps him to fashion the rope into a sling to take some of his weight so that Alexei can help pull him up to the top of the slope. Clambering along on his hands and one knee with a crutch in each hand is still painfully slow going, but with Alexei's assistance, at least he doesn't have to fight gravity. Even so, by the time he is halfway to the top, he wants desperately to stop and rest, but he won't give Igor the satisfaction of seeing his weakness. Instead, he just lets Alexei take on a little more of the work by putting more of his weight on the rope.

As he nears the top, he can hear Alexei panting with the exertion of hauling him up, and feeling guilty, he puts more effort into climbing. Emerging dizzily from the woods, Lucas flops onto his back, and bites back a groan when the motion jars his wounded leg.

He allows himself a hundred count to simply rest while Alexei gathers the rope and makes it ready for another toss down the hill. When he finally forces himself to his feet, he is surprised how wobbly he feels on his makeshift crutches. Turning about to get his bearings, he confronts a field of maize higher than his head stretching along the contour of the tree line for as far as he can see in either direction. He can't help the low whistle that escapes him or the anxious knot that twists in his gut.

"_We may have escaped the forest_," Alexei observes, "_but if not for Josie, we would still be lost._"

"_That's almost exactly what I was thinking_,"Lucas agrees, though he has to admit to himself that he took a more pessimistic view of their situation, worrying whether Josie knew the way from here rather than trusting that she did.

WITH LUCAS AT THE TOP and Josie at the bottom of the slope, it is time for Igor to make the climb. Before he lets Alexei toss the rope down, though, Lucas has a quiet word with him about staying out of the line of fire. It wasn't such a worry carrying them through the forest because there was six feet of stretcher between Alexei and Natalia and Josie made sure she and Igor trailed several yards behind them. Now, unfortunately, they will have to work side-by-side with their captives to get the wounded men to the top of the hill, and while Lucas and Josie have the training to manage such an adversarial partnership at close quarters, Alexei does not.

He tries to keep it simple.

"_Never let Igor or Natalia get behind you,_" he says. "_Any time you find yourself between this rifle and one of them, you need to get out of the way immediately. If Josie or I tell you to move or duck, do it immediately. _

"_If one of them gets close enough to touch you, move away immediately. If they actually get hold of you, unless they have a weapon, don't struggle with them. Just go completely limp. _

"_If you struggle, they can hurt you, use you as a shield, or create a distraction to give the other an opportunity to do something. If you make yourself a dead weight, the only thing they can do is beat you, and that will only get them shot._"

Lucas makes sure Alexei remembers certain key English words and phrases like _duck, get down, move, and run, _and he thinks the conversation is over.

"_And what do I do if they have a weapon?_" Alexei asks.

Lucas sighs. Of course there is that to 's no guaranteeing it won't happen.

"_You'll have to decide for yourself whether fighting will accomplish anything,_" he finally says. "_It's not something you can plan for, but if you do feel it is in your interest to fight, hit them in the throat, gouge their eyes, stomp on the arch of the foot, kick them in the shins, or better yet, the knees, but don't go for a man's bollocks, at least not right away. The instinct to protect them is just too strong. It's not as successful as it is in the movies. Just hurt them and get away._"

Alexei looks pensive, and Lucas is concerned.

"_What's the matter_?" he asks.

"_I am not a violent person,_" he says. "_I do not like to think of these things._"

"_I understand that,_" Lucas tells him. "_I don't like it any more than you do, but under the circumstances, you have to be prepared._"

"_I know,_" Alexei replies. "_And if it becomes necessary, I will do as you say._"

"_I hope you don't have to,_" Lucas says. "_Just…be aware of what he is doing and it should be all right._"

"_Of course," _Alexei agrees. "_Now, let's get Igor up here so Josie isn't outnumbered._"

IGOR MAY NOT HAVE Alexei's agility, but he does have brute strength, as Lucas remembers all too well from his days in Lushanka. In places where footing becomes treacherous, he doesn't bother looking for footholds and simply hauls himself up the rope hand over hand. It's something Lucas would have done had he been fighting fit, but he can feel the toll exhaustion, pain, and blood loss have taken on his stamina. More than embarrassing, it would have been bloody dangerous for all of them if he had just given out in the middle of the climb.

So, he uses their reversal of fortunes, and certain practical safety measures, to salve his wounded pride.

Far too many times a gun or a club had compelled Lucas to obey Igor's orders and endure his humiliation and abuse. Now, when the former guard crests the hill and reaches a hand out to Alexei for help rising to his feet, the first thing he hears is the action of the rifle cocking. The second, is Lucas's dangerous tone ordering him, "_Crawl_."

Igor obeys, but far from being cowed, he smirks and says, "_It feels good, doesn't it_?"

Lucas recognizes the tactic, that cocky confidence that says, _You don't scare me. _He'd used it himself, early in his captivity in Russia, before he ever met Igor, before he'd begun to lose hope and confidence. And he bloody well knows that Igor is scared, he just isn't worn down enough to show it yet.

"_Well, don't get used to it,_"Igor taunts. "_You are injured. You are weak. You are tired. My time will come. You will make a mistake, and then, you will belong to me again._"

"You forget, Igor," Lucas switches to English because Alexei has heard too much already, "I have had long years of practice living with pain, fatigue, and deprivation. You did your worst, and it never got you want you wanted."

"Perhaps not," Igor agrees, "but as I recall, it still broke you."

Lucas holds his breath for a moment. It is the only way he can keep himself from showing a reaction. He doesn't recall Igor being there when Darshavin cut him down, but he doesn't doubt all the guards were told, either officially or through the gossip grapevine.

Then he grins as he finds his answer. "This is not Lushanka, you are not in charge, and I already have a way home."

He uses the rifle to gesture for Igor to stand and when he is looking the taller man in the eye, he asks, "What do you think is going to happen to you when we get there?"

They stare at one another, until Igor looks away.

WITH IGOR'S BRUTE STRENGTH at the top of the hill, it's time to send the wounded up. Josie supervises Natalia in binding the injured men to their makeshift stretchers. Lucas doesn't hear the words that pass between them, but he assumes either Natalia has some spark of genuine compassion for her men or Josie has promised her a punishment she can't bear because the woman meekly cooperates. On Josie's orders, she escorts the first stretcher up the slope, disentangling it when it becomes caught in brush and helping to ease it over rocks and limbs that get in the way.

Josie allows her a couple of minutes to rest and then calls her down to repeat the arduous climb with the other wounded man. Lucas isn't sure what Josie has in mind, but he has the courtesy not to question her in front of the others. He has learned to trust her judgement and knows that if he is only patient, he will know what she is thinking when he sees what she does.

Still, Igor tries to goad him.

"_Is this how the British do things?_" he taunts. "_By taking orders from their American counterparts? Is that the nature of your 'special relationship'? The Americans giving orders and the British getting down on their knees to service them on command?_"

It is at best a weak attempt at creating dissent, and Lucas barely manages to hide a smirk. If only Igor had seen how he and Josie had serviced each other just last night!

"This is her territory," Lucas replies in English, managing to sound bored. "She knows the lay of the land. It would be stupid not to follow her lead, and I am not stupid. Are you?"

When Natalia is safely at the top of the hill and kneeling a few yards away from the injured men, Lucas finally gets to see why Josie chose just this spot with all its stones and fallen trees and dead branches to climb up.

About ten yards up the slope, she stops and shoves with the sole of her boot against a rotting fallen tree trunk which rolls and slides to the bottom of the hill. Another few yards, and she does it again, this time dislodging some rocks that tumble down the slope. One boulder about twice the size of a man's head hurtles on past where they had started the last leg of their climb, bouncing and rumbling along out of sight until they can hear it stop with a loud crack against a tree or another rock. She repeats the process twice more, creating landslides that tear up the landscape and wipe out any sign that they were there.

Finally, near the top of the slope, Josie puts her back to the side of the hill, places her feet on a massive rotting trunk so large two men together could not encircle it with their arms, and tells Igor to keep tension on the rope around her waist so she doesn't slip. Lucas translates the instructions to Russian just to ensure there is no misunderstanding and gestures with the rifle to be sure he understands the consequences of failing to comply.

Once she is satisfied that she is well anchored, Josie begins to press with her legs, groaning and straining. From where he stands at the summit, Lucas can just see the faded knees of her jeans trembling with the effort and winces at the thought of the stress she is putting on her injured back.

Then he hears a loud "Ugh!" and the log and whatever detritus was holding it back break free and go rolling down the hill, flattening young saplings which spring right back up and crushing dry brush which doesn't. The dirt beneath Josie had been held in place by the log she has just kicked away, and when it crumbles beneath her, she yelps again to find herself hanging in open space.

"_Pull her up!_" Lucas orders Igor, not waiting for Josie to suggest it.

As Igor complies, the log Josie dislodged rolls to a stop against a tree just below where they had been standing. It's not quite centred, and as dirt and stones pile against it, one end tilts, and then it slides, and then it is rolling down the hill again. As Josie gains the summit, it finally comes to rest a few yards further down against two trees several feet apart. Most of the dislodged dirt and rocks pile up against it, but a few larger stones have gained enough momentum to bounce right over the pile and go careening through the woods.

The moment Josie is on solid ground, Lucas waves Igor away from the edge with the rifle and commands him to kneel close enough to Natalia that he can cover them both, but far enough away that they cannot communicate.

Getting to her feet, Josie stands to smile downslope at her handiwork. There is a great scar of fresh brown earth on the steep hillside, now, but it has obliterated all marks of their passing.

"I'd like to see someone try to track us over that!" she says in satisfaction.

Still standing at the edge of the woods, she dusts the dirt and other matter off her clothes, picks a few dry leaves out of her hair and tosses them over the slope, and then turns to approach Natalia. It is on the tip of Lucas's tongue to warn her to stay out of his line of fire when she diverts her course to stand behind the woman, off to one side, where he could put a bullet right through Natalia, if necessary, and not come near Josie. Then he remembers that she spent a career in military police work and is at least as aware of firing lines and safe distances as he is, and he has to wonder if it's the peculiar protective instinct he's been feeling toward her or simply his fatigue that is making him absentminded.

Taking out of her pocket the keys Lucas gave her when he initially searched their captives, she jingles them in front of Natalia's face and asks, "Where did you park?"

Natalia turns her head slightly and looks away from the keys.

"Oh, come on," Josie taunts in her ear. "It will save you the trouble of carrying a stretcher."

Natalia sighs as if she is bored.

"You know, the answer doesn't have to come from you," Josie says.

"Good," Natalia replies, "because you won't get it from me."

Now it is Josie's turn to sigh as she moves away from Natalia. Then she pulls one of her knives and in a blindingly fast move, she has it stuck a half inch deep in the side of Igor's neck.

Lucas hears the big Russian's loud gasp, and then Igor falls silent as if he is too frightened to move. As Lucas watches, all the colour drains from Igor's face and beads of perspiration break out across his forehead. To himself, Lucas wonders if he looked that terrified when Josie pulled the same stunt on him the other night. Aloud he just says, "Mind you don't faint, mate, or you could end up with an ugly scar."

Over Igor's head, Josie sends him a wink. It takes a conscious effort on Lucas's part not to smile.

"Do you really think threatening him will make me cooperate?" Natalia asks.

"Oh, now you're just being insulting," Josie says. "And that really pisses me off….

"Slow, shallow breaths," she interrupts herself to say calmingly into Igor's ear.

Addressing Natalia again, she continues, "First, at least this time, I can get the information I need without torturing anybody. Second, I heard what he said about his plans for you, so I know there is no way you would help me to save him. I was just giving you the chance to gain a little favour by cooperating. Now that I know how stubborn you are, I won't waste my time again. It just so happens he has something I need."

Turning once more to speak into Igor's ear, she says, "Moving slowly and carefully, I want you to remove your belt."

Lucas knows he should be ashamed of himself for enjoying the sound of Igor whinging like a beaten dog as he moves his shaking hands to unfasten his belt, but this revenge has been so long in coming that he just can't help it. The best he can do is to manage not to smile. Somehow, it's even sweeter seeing Igor helpless at Josie's hands because he knows there is no real malice in her actions, just overenthusiastic mischief.

Igor whinges again and goes very still as some motion of his seems to have made the knife shift painfully in his flesh.

"It's all right," Josie tells him soothingly. "I have a better-than-average grasp of human anatomy, and I am reasonably certain that if you just_ move slowly_, you won't cause me to damage any major blood vessels."

Igor takes a slow, deep breath, and finishes removing his belt.

"Very good," Josie says. "Now toss it away from you."

Igor complies, and Josie praises him again.

"Now put your left hand on your head."

Igor obeys once more, and Josie pulls the knife blade from his neck.

"Quickly! Quickly! Put pressure on the wound!" she orders, grabbing his wrist and guiding him to slap his hand against his neck.

There is barely a trickle of blood, but Lucas suspects Igor is still too frightened and the small cut still stings just a little too much for him to know that. Lucas has to bite his tongue until it _hurts_ to keep from laughing as Josie shoots him another wink over the Russian's head.

Without another word, Josie sheathes the knife, takes up Igor's belt, and walks over to a tree that is about as big around as she is at the waist. She loops the leather strap around the tree, and taking it by both hands, uses it to help her climb the trunk up to the first branches a good twenty feet overhead. After pulling herself onto the first branch, she puts the belt round her waist to keep it handy, Lucas presumes, for the climb back down.

As he watches her clamber through the treetop like a monkey, Lucas wonders whether she actually forgot about all the rope they carried with them or just wanted to have a bit of fun with Igor. Then he wonders if it is a bad thing to be more concerned by the former possibility than the latter. Finally, he wonders what it says about him that he is impossibly fond of a woman who would stab a man, even a monster like Igor, in the neck just for fun.

"We're in luck!" Josie cheers down from the treetop. "She's parked just over the next hill, and it's a Silverado. Plenty of room for us and our cargo!"

LUCAS ISN'T SURE what a Silverado might be, but Josie is certainly excited by it and if it will save him having to hobble the remaining two miles to the extraction site, then he's all for it. He's perfectly willing to hobble over the hill on his crutches, but Josie is certain that she can get there and bring the truck back quicker than they can carry the injured to it. Lucas notices that she doesn't mention his wound, and he wonders if she is more concerned for his health or his ego or if she's just that convinced that she can make better time by herself.

Whatever the case, Lucas is just as happy to sit and wait for her, so he settles at the base of a tree, resting his back against its trunk with the rifle across his lap. Before she goes, Josie makes Igor and Natalia remove their shoes. Lucas supposes that she didn't want them slowing them down in the forest, but the ploughed fields and the grassy swathes between them probably make for easier running. He's finding it very hard to really care one way or the other about anything Josie does now. He trusts her, he's tired, and unless she suggests something blindingly stupid, he's willing to go along with whatever she wants.

A few minutes after Josie leaves, he notices Natalia fidgeting and it occurs to him that she and Igor might be more comfortable sitting cross-legged rather than kneeling, but he chooses not to allow them to shift position. If it was just Natalia, he might be a slightly more compassionate captor, but there is no kindness in his heart for Igor Belyakov.

In the shade of the tree with the cicadas whirring and the breeze blowing softly, Lucas feels himself begin to relax. Then, he begins to feel his bone deep exhaustion. It becomes more than he can manage to keep his head upright, and the first time his chin bumps his chest, he raises his head and calls sharply, "_Alexei_!"

"_Da_?"

"_Come here,_" he requests.

When Alexei is standing near him, he says, low enough that Igor and Natalia cannot hear, "_I need you to keep talking to me. I dare not fall asleep._"

"_What should I talk about_?"

"_I don't know….What plans do you have when you get to London_?"

Lucas honestly doesn't know what the other man says, but the challenge of responding to the steady chatter with a word or a grunt of agreement in all the right places is just enough to keep him conscious until the unexpected scrape of sandpaper against his wrist makes him jump. He manages not to yelp in surprise, but he cannot suppress a long, low groan at the shock of jostling his injured leg.

"_Careful,_" he hears Alexei say warningly as he shuts his eyes for a moment and tries to will away the pain, "_that might be all the reason he needs to shoot you._"

Lucas opens his eyes to see Igor smirking at him. When Igor sees him looking, his expression very quickly fades to a blank mask.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Igor," Lucas says with false camaraderie and a nasty grin. "I wouldn't shoot you here. I want to take my time with you when I get you back to London."

"You haven't the stomach for it," Igor sneers. "You forget, I know you. I _owned_ you."

"No, you knew a prisoner with no hope and no chance for escape," Lucas says. "I am the man who owns you, now, and I have long been ready for my revenge."

Then he dismisses Igor in the most insulting way he can imagine. He reaches down beside him and scoops Boo into his arms.

"Nice of you to join us mate," he says, giving the cat a good scratch behind the ears and under the chin. "She hasn't said anything, but I am sure your mum is wondering where you've been. I'm a bit busy now, so you go on and catch a mouse or a mole or something. Just no birds. I'm rather fond of birds."

He puts Boo down fully expecting him to scamper off, but the cat just looks up at him with liquid green eyes, meows pathetically, paws at his elbow, head-butts his wrist a couple of times, sighs, and curls up on the ground against his hip, one paw resting on his jeans, purring.

_**Reviews feed the muse.**_


	24. The Last Leg

_**Busman's Holiday  
**__Chapter Twenty-four: The Last Leg_

JOSIE RETURNS within twenty minutes. She is on foot, but she seems relaxed and confident. Whatever the problem, Lucas can only assume from her demeanour that it is a small one. She approaches at an easy jog and is barely breathing hard when she arrives.

"Hey there, Boo! I was wondering where you were!"

She greets the cat first and with unbridled enthusiasm. She scratches his ears, then rolls him over in her arms, cradling him like a baby so she can rub his tummy and scratch his chin. She presses her forehead to his and makes baby talk, then sets him sets him on the ground and scratches the root of his tail before wrapping her fingers around it and running her hand the length of it. In less than thirty seconds, she has touched every inch of the cat's body, assured herself again that he is uninjured, and assured Boo that he is as welcome as ever.

Her approach to Lucas is much less boisterous and enthusiastic, but every bit as concerned with his well-being.

"There is a ditch between here and the truck," she says, keeping her back to their captives and keeping her voice low. "It's not very wide, but deep enough I didn't want to try driving across it. With the luck we've been having I'd break an axel."

It's entirely possible their captives already know about the obstacle, but Josie's discretion is good tradecraft. On hearing her next words, Lucas appreciates her tact even more.

"It's about twenty yards over the hill. Do you think you can make it that far?"

It's ridiculous to think that Igor and Natalia don't realize he is struggling on account of his injury, but discussing it openly in front of them would be poor practice. The fact that he's not certain how long his reserves will hold out only makes it more worrisome.

"Is there a viable alternative?" he asks, hating that he has to do it.

She shrugs.

"I could find one," she offers. "I don't know how far that ditch runs, how close to a residence I might have to get before I can cross. I could take a walk and find out, but if it turns out we have to drive all the way down to the farmer's driveway, it would just be a big waste of time. I could fill it in, cross, and clean it out again, but moving that much material is going to take time and we're running out of daylight."

"Not to mention it would leave evidence of our trail that you have been trying so hard to eliminate," Lucas adds.

"As long as you and Alexei get safely out of the country, you don't need to worry about that," Josie tells him.

Lucas scowls.

"You really think I'd do that?" he asks angrily. "Just hare off to Britain and forget you and the risks you've taken for me?"

"Actually, I don't," Josie replies softly, "but at this point in the game, my best protection from the legal consequences of the things I've done to help you is the immunity agreements you're going to negotiate for me once you get safely home. The sooner I get you out of this country, the better it is for me.

"Now, I don't need any more crap from you!" she whispers harshly. "I know you're one of the good guys. That's why I helped you. And I know you'll do whatever you can to help me. All I need from you right now is a simple yes or no. Can you walk thirty yards up that hill and twenty yards down the other side, or do I have to find an alternative?"

"I'll manage," Lucas growls, not so much because he's that confident in his waning stamina, but because he knows there is no better alternative. He hates that they're losing patience with each other, and not just for the sake of the mission.

"All right, then," Josie replies. "Let's go."

She offers him a hand up, and when he accepts, she takes the opportunity to plant a quick, passionate kiss on his lips.

"What was that for?" Lucas asks in surprise, unable to stop the small smile that quirks the corner of his mouth.

Josie smiles, carefully.

"Kiss and make up?"

"Well, in that case, we should do it properly," he replies, and bestows a longer, gentler, but no less ardent kiss on her.

The moment is shattered by a loud"Meow!" from Boo and a louder "Ow, ow, _ow!_" from Josie when the cat tries to scale her leg by digging his needle sharp claws into her jeans and maybe not accidentally piercing the flesh underneath.

They part laughing, but when Josie turns to see Igor smirking, her humour evaporates.

"On your feet," she commands him.

He remains kneeling, knees wide, buttocks resting back on his heels, and continues smirking, deliberately and obviously testing her.

"You do realize, don't you, that I am the only one of us who cares if we keep you alive," Josie says.

Igor doesn't respond.

"And I don't really care all that much."

Igor gives a derisive snort.

Faster than anyone should be able to move, Josie whips out a knife and throws it. Igor only just manages to swallow and agonized scream. He is already curled into a ball on the ground and moaning when Lucas realizes what has happened. The knife is standing up in the earth, just short of where Igor's groin had been and the handle is pointing toward where Igor was kneeling. Josie has managed to hit him in the bollocks from ten feet away. It's possible that Igor wasn't close enough to see how Josie managed to take out the three men in the woods, but that throw landed so perfectly that he'd have to be an irredeemable fool to think it was an accident.

After a minute or two of groaning and heavy breathing, Igor rises to his knees again. He's pale and perspiring now, Lucas notices with satisfaction, but he still manages to look defiant.

"I'll ask one more time, and before I do, you should know that a man can bleed to death from a severed penis," Josie says indifferently. "Stand up."

Igor's expression gives nothing away, but this time, he does obey.

TO LUCAS'S ENORMOUS RELIEF, the hill isn't nearly as formidable as the steep climb up out of the hollow. He's weary, yes, and his wounded leg and the makeshift crutches slow him down, but it's still an easy stroll. Josie now has Igor and Natalia pulling the stretchers behind them like travois, and though she says nothing about his condition, Lucas is sure it's partly because she realizes his reflexes with the rifle might not be quick enough should their captives try anything. They keep to the grassy strip at the edge of the maize field, and though he keeps a sharp eye, Lucas can't see where the ends of the stretchers leave a mark. It's almost too much to hope that things are starting to go their way.

When they reach the ditch, Lucas can see why Josie was reluctant to try to cross it in the truck. It's about four feet wide at the top and nearly waist deep to Lucas, but the walls are so steeply angled that it narrows to a V at the bottom. Any attempt to drive across it would have resulted in smashing the front bumper and grille into the opposite wall while leaving the rear wheels spinning up in the air. Since the ground on the truck's side of the ditch turns down into the narrow gully instead of following the slope of the hill upward, had Josie tried to jump it, she probably would have just smashed into the opposite wall that much harder.

What irks Lucas most though, is not the way the land itself seems to be conspiring against them, but that, had he been fighting fit, the narrow channel would have been an easy hop for him. Now, with his wounded leg too weak to push off for a jump and too fragile to catch his weight on a landing, this small water channel meant to prevent the erosion of the field above it, presents a major obstacle that actually requires a discussion and a plan to get him across.

In the end, they decide that Lucas, with assistance from Alexei, will lower himself to the ground and scoot forward to sit on the near wall of the ditch. Then Alexei will climb in, move his makeshift crutches over, and help him to pivot and sit on the far wall. Once Alexei climbs out of the ditch on the opposite side, he will lift Lucas from behind while Lucas pushes himself up as best he can with his crutches.

Lucas is sitting on the ground, trying to mentally prepare for what he knows will be a painful series of movements to scoot forward into the ditch, turn, and get out the other side, when he takes a deep breath to brace himself and gasps.

"I smell cucumbers!" he tells Josie breathlessly.

"Very good!" she praises him. "I was wondering if you would notice."

"And you didn't bloody think to warn me?" Lucas curses.

"I was about to, the moment you moved forward."

"Uh-huh." Lucas believes her, but doesn't find it very comforting that she would wait so long to mention it.

"What does it mean, to smell cucumbers?" Igor asks.

Josie looks down at his bare feet and gives him a vicious little smile.

"It means, you should watch your step very carefully."

Just then, Alexei sniffs, and says to Lucas, "_I smell cucumbers. There are snakes nearby."_

"_Snakes_?" Igor gasps in Russian. "_What sort of snakes_?"

"The venomous kind," Lucas says in English so that Josie knows Alexei has given it away, though he suspects she might have guessed it from Igor's anxious tone.

Josie rolls her eyes and he knows she had intended to keep Igor in the dark, but far from being angry with Alexei, which would be pointless anyway since he doesn't speak English and couldn't have known she didn't intend to tell Igor anything, she takes an impish delight in describing the haemorrhagic effects of the venom.

"Under normal circumstances, not enough to kill you, unless you're old, weak, ill, or allergic," she finishes up, "but considering how long it will be until you can get to proper medical care, you could lose an appendage, or even an entire limb, depending on where you're bitten."

For just a moment, Lucas enjoys Igor's pale and shaken expression, until he remembers the injury and blood loss that have made it necessary for him to cross through the channel himself instead of just jumping over it. Then he takes another deep breath and makes his move.

Although the jostling of lowering himself to his bum, shifting to the other side of the ditch, and getting his feet back under him on the other side sends bolts of pain through his entire body, Lucas manages not to cry out once. Alexei lowers the tailgate of the truck for him, and as he sits with his leg elevated, he can feel tremors passing through him and a cold sweat breaks out across his back, neck, and face. He immediately realizes he may be going into shock again, and he knows what a problem that could present this close to their goal.

Instead of bothering Josie about it, he quietly asks Alexei to fetch him the backpack that has the food in it. Thinking some sugar might do him good, he finds the last of the grapes from the bunch he had bought himself, was it really just three days ago? They're not cold, which is how he prefers them, but they're still sweet and juicy. He takes his time enjoying them and tries to ignore the throbbing in his leg while he watches Josie supervise the transfer of the injured across the ditch.

"All right," she gestures to Igor. "Get in there, and Natalia will slide these men on their stretchers to you one at a time, head first. You will pull the front handles across to rest on the other side while she holds their feet up, and then you will come around and take their feet so she can cross the ditch and drag them back on to solid ground."

"I-I w-want my shoes," Igor says, and Lucas is surprised how desperate he sounds. On closer examination, he even looks desperate. Bloody terrified, in fact. Could it be that they have just stumbled upon Igor's greatest fear?

"No," is Josie's simple reply.

"I'm not moving from this spot without my shoes," Igor insists. He does a good job of keeping his voice firm, but Lucas can see his legs trembling.

"Ah, I see the problem," Josie says. "You seem to think you have a say in how this is going to go."

She shakes her head.

"You don't."

"I want my shoes!" Igor insists with the tenacity of a child who seems to think persistent whinging will get him what he wants. "You'll have to shoot me to make me walk through that snake-pit barefoot."

"If I shoot you, the only place you're going is into a hole in the ground," Josie responds calmly. "We're here, now. I don't need you anymore. In fact, it would be _easier_ for me to shoot you dead, cuff Natalia to the truck, and have Alexei help me move the wounded and your corpse across the ditch. You're very quickly becoming more of a liability than an asset. You have ten seconds to decide whether you'd really rather die than risk a snake bite."

"Give me my shoes and I'll do what you ask," Igor says in a wheedling tone.

"Ten…nine…" Josie counts steadily.

"I-I…It will just mean more work for you if I get bit," Igor argues.

"All the more reason to kill you now," Josie fires back. "Seven...six…five…"

Lucas resists the urge to tell her she skipped eight. He imagines she is keeping a steady count in her head and eight passed while she was speaking.

"Pleeease!" Igor pleads, and there is a note of hysteria in his voice now. "I-I can't cope with snakes. I'm a-afraid of them."

"Then consider this exposure therapy," Josie suggests. "Three…"

She pulls up the rifle, and Igor flinches.

"Two…"

She sights along the barrel.

"One!"

"Please, no!" Igor begs, dropping to his knees.

Lucas silently curses the sympathetic twist of his heart in his chest when he sees actual tears on the other man's face. _You don't feel sorry for him_, he tells himself. _You just remember how it feels. _

"I'll do what you say!" Igor promises. "I just need a moment."

"Now," Josie insists, and a hard kick to the chest from the sole of her boot sends him toppling into the ditch.

_She's just dealing with a difficult prisoner,_ Lucas tells himself, refusing to be put off by Josie's behaviour as Igor lays there sobbing in terror. _It's the least he deserves._

"The sooner you stand up and do as you're told, the sooner you can get out of there," Josie says mildly.

Igor swallows his sobs, eventually, and still snivelling, stands up, and motions for Natalia to slide the first stretcher to him.

"HOW ARE YOU FEELING?" Josie asks quietly as she leans against the truck beside Lucas to supervise the transfer of the wounded.

"Tired," he admits frankly. "Weak. Relieved that you were able to find this truck."

Josie nods.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you," she says. "I only ever had basic training in field first-aid."

"I'll be all right," Lucas tells her. "Having transportation makes all the difference in the world."

"I'm going to miss you," she confesses.

Lucas smirks slightly, and after a beat, says, "I know."

Josie huffs.

"Awfully smug, aren't we?" she chides him as she tickles his ribs.

Lucas struggles to stifle a laugh as he tries to worm away from her, but the motion jostles his wounded leg, making him groan aloud.

"Oh, God! I'm sorry!" Josie gasps. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Lucas tries to assure her through clenched teeth. Once he has caught his breath, he adds, "I'm going to miss you, too."

As they are talking, Igor and Natalia move the two wounded men across the ditch and up to the truck. At a gesture from Josie, they back up several steps to wait for further instructions.

"Not too far," she snaps. "I don't want either of you thinking you have enough space to make a run for it. Down on your knees."

Being forced to confront his phobia has drained Igor of all his fight, Lucas notices, and he seems uncharacteristically meek and compliant. He appears resigned to the fact that any one of them could as easily shoot him as look at him, now, and acts as if he only wants not to die in the near future.

It is a surprise, then, even though it may have been inevitable, when Igor collapses to the ground screaming and sobbing, holding his foot, and shouting, "_I'm bitten. I'm going to die, damn you!_"

Though he's shouting in Russian, Josie discerns the problem and reacts before Lucas fully registers what Igor is saying.

"If he tries anything, kill him," she commands, shoving the rifle into Lucas's hands. Then she moves to Igor's side, carefully making sure Lucas has a clear line of fire all the time. When she tries to check his injury, he kicks her away at first, and Lucas lifts the rifle to his shoulder.

"Easy!" Josie tells him. "He's hysterical."

She approaches again, and this time, grabs Igor by the front of his shirt. She's so overmatched, it's absurd, but Igor is too terrified to resist and lets her shake him like a rag doll.

"Listen to me!" she shouts, and when that doesn't work, she backhands him across the face, _hard._

Igor grunts, then gasps, then whimpers in English so that she will understand, "I do not want to die!"

"Then quit flailing around like an idiot," Josie says in annoyance. "It will only circulate the poison faster."

Igor whimpers and goes very still.

"Good," Josie praises in that old-ladies-and-children she used to such soothing effect with Lucas several times in the past few days. "Lie down on your back and be still. Let me have a look at your foot."

"Are you going to suck out the poison?" Igor asks in a strangely pleading voice.

"I'd sooner lick a pig's ass," Josie mutters under her breath as she lifts his foot onto her lap.

Perhaps if it were someone whose fate mattered to him, Lucas would have been more successful in stifling his laughter. As it was, he could only hope Igor wasn't going to try anything because he was chuckling so hard he would never be able to properly aim the rifle. Igor's delayed grunt of confusion only makes it worse, and before he can stop himself, Lucas is laughing aloud.

Josie glares over her shoulder at him, and he is quick to apologize.

"I'm sorry!" he says, holding up one hand defensively. "I'm sorry, but…you set me off!"

Josie just rolls her eyes in exasperation and returns to tending to Igor. After a moment, Lucas sees her shoulder raise and lower as with a deep breath.

"You stepped on a thistle, you moron," she growls at the whimpering Russian.

"Uh?" Igor responds in confusion.

"A thi-stle!" Josie repeats louder and more slowly, as if that was the solution to making a person understand a word he did not know in a language that was not his own.

"Thi-stle?" Igor repeats.

Not wanting to annoy Josie further, Lucas struggles mightily and futilely to suppress his laughter.

"Oh, for God's sake! I don't speak Russian!" She searches around herself for the offending plant, and when she finds it, she carefully pulls off a leaf and tosses it onto Igor's chest. "You stepped on that. It's called a thistle."

"Thistle," Igor repeats carefully. "No snake?"

"No, no snake," Josie tells him.

"No poison?"

"Actually, it's called venom," Josie corrects him. "Venom is injected. Poison is delivered through contact, or is inhaled or ingested, but no, no venom."

Lucas bites his lip at the absurdity of the multidisciplinary language-biology lesson in these circumstances. He can't help but think of Malcolm, of all people. He would appreciate Josie's insistence on correct terminology.

"I'm not going to die?"

"Not from this," she tells him, then mutters, "but I wouldn't press my luck." Taking another deep breath, she says, "Now hold still and I'll see if I can get some of the spines out of you."

Igor collapses on his back and weeps in helpless relief.

Once more, Lucas is surprised that he is _not_ surprised by Josie's behaviour. As she pulls out a utility knife and uses the tweezers attachment to gently pluck the spines from Igor's foot, she seems more at ease than she has been since she first dressed Lucas's bullet wound back in the woods.

_She's a caregiver at heart,_ Lucas realizes. _She can do what she has to when a situation calls for it, but she's at her best when she is providing care and comfort. Even to a man like Igor._

Lucas can't reconcile this new insight with the image of a tough marine and a criminal investigator. Then he remembers that she is now a teacher, and that she cared for her dying grandfather when she was still a girl. In the end, he just shakes his head and wishes he had more time to get to know her.

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